


Forest of Worth

by SnappleApple11



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coming of Age, Drama, Ensemble Cast, F/M, Family, Fantasy, Female Friendship, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Male-Female Friendship, POV Female Character, POV Male Character, POV Multiple, Storybrooke, Swordfighting, Swords, The Enchanted Forest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 11:30:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 46,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3445505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnappleApple11/pseuds/SnappleApple11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Henry is sick of being treated like a child, and decides to prove his worth on a quest to the Enchanted Forest. When he runs into Mulan, who is on the trail of a sinister force causing panic throughout the land, it seems like a golden opportunity. But what they find wreaking havoc in the Enchanted Forest is just the beginning. Post S4a</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello readers! This is the start of a new, hopefully fairly long, multi-chapter fic that I’m rather excited about! Mostly because I remember being a 13 year old little shit. But I was a capable little shit, and if someone as capable and shitty as I was at 13 could get things done then someone as awesome and underappreciated as Henry definitely deserves his own adventure. M rating is mostly for future language, violence, and themes. Any other warnings will be posted as the need arises at the start of each chapter. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is not mine
> 
> As always, please Read and Review!

“Stronger stance Henry. You’re trying to take the entire hit with your arms. Let your legs help.” David took a step back to let his grandson make the adjustment before coming at him again with a wooden sword. 

It was less than a month after the Snow Queen’s defeat and Gold’s exile from Storybrooke, and Henry had sought out his remaining grandfather for a sword-fighting lesson in the park. He hoped that something as physically demanding as a spar would take his mind off his growing anxiety, but so far it didn’t seem to be helping. 

When Emma had told her son what happened during her and Mary Margaret’s adventure in the Enchanted Forest several years earlier he’d been beyond jealous. She’d gotten the total fairy tale hero experience; climbing a beanstalk to steal from a giant; fighting a pirate; saving a princess; meeting other fairytale characters; and just generally saving the day. 

Henry wanted that too. Or at the very least, he wanted to feel like he contributed more to solving the crises that seemed to crop up around Storybrooke like clockwork. 

“Two-hands on the hilt. I know it’s not as heavy as a real sword but you gotta get used to the position,” David noted. Henry threw his other hand up to join its partner, only half aware of what he was doing as he went through the motions. Swing, block, parry, swing, parry, over and over while his thoughts continued to race. 

Henry supposed he had done his fair share in the heroics department around Storybrooke. Both his moms and all of his relatives had assured him that eating the sleeping curse-induced apple turnover that led to the first curse being broken was a heroic enough deed to last several lifetimes. 

So why didn’t he feel like he ever really contributed anything since then? If he let himself really think about it for too long it didn’t even feel like he’d done much back then, either. He’d fallen asleep. It was his mom’s kiss that had really broken the curse. Not him. 

Right? 

So Henry tried to prove himself a hero. He tried bringing Mary Margaret and Emma back from the Enchanted Forest (And failed), destroying magic in Storybrooke (Also failed), and then saving magic in Neverland (A failure of heinous consequences). 

“Mind your surroundings lad!” Hook called out from where he sat on a nearby bench. Henry glanced down for a moment realizing he was about to fall over a tree root, and lifted his leg higher to avoid it, still fleeing an onslaught of strikes from David. 

Killian had happened upon the pair on his way to the docks and decided to watch them; occasionally calling out bits of advice that either contradicted what David told Henry (“You might not always have both hands, lad. Best learn to handle yourself single-handed while you have options.”) or just distracted Henry from the spar. 

If only he could distract Henry from the thoughts that plagued him and ate at his conviction. 

It definitely didn’t help Henry’s confidence any that for almost the entirety of the Zelena ordeal he’d been blissfully unaware of what was happening; still trapped in the false memories of New York and a world without magic or his large and loving family. He’d been lied to, had secrets kept from him, and been otherwise shoved off into a corner (and a hospital closet. Sharing a closet with Archie was not on his list of repeatable experiences.). 

That was what bothered him most, being shoved aside and hidden away like something helpless. 

“You’re over thinking your moves Henry, clear your head.” Henry went on the offensive, sidestepping a sapling tree and raining several sharp blows towards David’s side. None the swings made contact but they put David on the defensive, forcing him backwards on the grass. Henry thought he heard Killian whoop in approval but was too engrossed in his thoughts to care.

The Snow Queen incident was supposed to be his chance to prove himself, to help save the day and show he didn’t have to hide in a closet when trouble inevitably came knocking. But he didn’t have much contact, if any at all, with the visitors from Arendelle so he felt useless there. He hadn’t been able to pull Emma back from fearing her own magic and only got hurt in the process, and Operation Mongoose was barely going anywhere. Not to mention Regina’s happy ending had gone and done the honorable thing by leaving Storybrooke forever with his wife and son. 

“More focus, you’re just throwing yourself around.” Henry knew he’d lost all pretense of good form and was just blindly swinging the wooden sword in David’s general direction, steering them towards the paved walkway closer to Hook’s bench. He didn’t want to hurt his grandpa so much as force his anger out through his strikes, hoping it would physically relieve some of his frustration. 

Everyone saw him as a child. The townsfolk, his family, everyone always told him to run and hide when trouble came, or to go play with his toys when the adults wanted to talk about something serious that they didn’t want him knowing. 

Henry knew they all cared about him and had his best interest at heart but it was insulting. Damn it, he was thirteen! Not four! If they kept treating him like a child how would anyone ever trust him to make his own decisions or take care of himself? 

What if he was never given the chance to prove himself? Not just as a hero or ally in a crisis, but to show that he was even growing up? 

He could be trapped in an unwitting cocoon of overbearing parents and family for the rest of his life while the world passed him by and he never saw any of it. 

“Whoa! Careful where you swing, Henry! That almost lopped off my head!” Henry’s swings were chaotic and overzealous, with none of the careful technique and swordsmanship taught to him by his grandfather. They were raw and angry. It wasn’t a spar anymore, it was target practice, and David was barely evading. David’s shock at Henry’s built up aggression and Hook’s concerned “Henry?” couldn’t pull him from his musings now, and Henry let his anger roll over him. 

The more he thought about all that had happened since Mary Margaret first gave him the storybook during the first curse the more furious he became. He had come a long way from being a starry-eyed 10-year-old kid. He knew how to fight now, how to survive in the woods or at sea, even how to study and decipher magic. So why didn’t anyone seem to trust him to help do any of those things?

“Slow down, lad!”

“Take it easy, it’s not a real fight!”

Their words were the last trigger and Henry saw red. He heaved the wooden sword over his head to swing it down hard in what would have been a killing blow on any battlefield. David readied himself to block the blow but stepped back at the last moment, letting Henry’s strike come down in a sharp arc in front of him. 

“Shut up!” Henry cried out.

CRACK!

With a thunderous clap Henry’s wooden sword smashed against the pavement, breaking in two and signaling the abrupt end of the once innocent spar. 

The three stood motionless, the air thick between them and the crack of the shattered wood still echoing through the open park. Killian had risen from the bench at the sound of splintering wood but did not move closer, blue eyes shocked open and unblinking. David’s face was just as stunned, his breathing still quick from the spar, and he looked at Henry with a little fear. They watched the boy warily, neither willing to move an inch for fear it set him off. 

Henry’s breath came fast and shallow in anger and fatigue, his heart racing and blood pounding in his ears. His hands trembled not only from the aftershock of the wood’s impact on the ground, but also in anger. 

“It’s never a real fight!” Henry screamed, his brown eyes glued to the splintered wood littering the ground. “It’s never a real fight or real training and it’s never going to be my chance to prove myself because none of you take me seriously!” 

“Henry-” “Lad-” Henry didn’t want to hear any of what they had to say though because he already knew what they would tell him. It was the same thing he’d been told for three years now. 

“No! I’m sick of being pushed aside when you all know I can help! I can do more than carry a book around or ‘hold the fort’ but no one will let me do anything else!”

“Henry, we just want you safe,” David pleaded calmly. He dropped his own sword, kneeling on the pavement and holding his hands in front of him in a peaceful gesture, hoping it would calm Henry down. But the dam had broken and all of Henry’s anger was rushing out, a river of frustration three years in the making. 

“I don’t need a babysitter to walk me back from school or tuck me into bed, and you can’t just kick me out a room whenever you need to talk battle strategy. It’s like none of you will trust me to think for myself!” The words tumbled out of his mouth, and with every confessed frustration a part of Henry felt a little lighter. His gaze moved between his grandfather and the pirate, the unlucky stand-ins for all his pent up anger. “I’m thirteen and I’m growing up! Why can’t anyone accept that and start treating me like I can be responsible for myself?”

Henry let the words fill the space between them, let them echo through their heads and resonate for as long as his current lack of patience allowed. His eyes glared at the two, the brown depths silently accusing them and holding them accountable for everyone’s thoughts and actions toward him the past three years.

Killian and David just stood there, unmoving and silent. Guilt and concern overshadowed their initial shock and both looked as though they wanted to speak, to reassure Henry with false promises of trust and true promises of their love for him. But there was nothing they could say to even try and brush aside what Henry had just revealed, and there was definitely nothing they could say to try and mend it either. 

Nothing Henry wanted to hear right now, anyway. 

He was too angry and he knew if either one said anything he’d just yell again. 

Henry realized he needed to leave. He needed time alone with his thoughts so that David and Killian could be alone with his words. 

He rushed by the pair and picked up his backpack from its place by the bench, dropping the shattered wood with a loud and heavy clatter onto the pavement, and walked away. 

“Henry, wait! Come back!” David started to go after his grandson, but Killian wrapped an arm around him, holding him back.

“Let him go mate!” Killian struggled to restrain the prince, but managed to keep his hold.

“We can’t just-”

“Let. Him. Go. He’ll cool his head, and then we can all talk about it like grown ups, just the way he wants us to treat him.” David finally stopped struggling and Killian felt sure enough to let go of him. The prince bristled as he shrugged off the pirate irritably, turning to face Killian so he could stare him down. 

“You better have a damn good reason for stopping me, pirate. Otherwise I’m going after him.”

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

The woods around Storybrooke were thick with trees and growing darker in the fading daylight. Henry didn’t know how long he wandered or where he was going, letting his feet carry him wherever they wanted for however long they felt like, but he didn’t want to stop to check the time or even to pull out his flashlight. The latter would have been more useful in that moment since his foot accidentally made contact with several hidden tree roots and holes, only fueling his anger and irritation. 

He was still tingling with the aftereffects of his outburst. His fists clenched around the straps of his backpack, anchoring him to reality, while his mind drifted away as it replayed his earlier words. As guilty as he knew he would feel about his anger later, right now Henry didn’t want to lose the high rushing through him, the exhilaration that came with seeing the fear and shock on David and Killian’s faces. Knowing he surprised them and made them question what they knew about him was new thrill that he didn’t want to give up yet. 

It left them open to being proven wrong about just how capable Henry was at taking care of himself, a notion that had Henry’s lips curling upwards in a self-assured sneer. 

A growl of thunder filled the sky, interrupting the flow of his prideful thoughts, and Henry finally took note of the dark clouds making their way toward town. 

Maybe hiding out in the woods wasn’t the best place to try and be alone. But Henry needed to be alone right now to revel in what he’d finally done and to think about what he should do next. He hadn’t meant for everything to come out like that, angry and temperamental like the child he was trying to prove he wasn’t, but he was glad it was out. It needed to be said and Henry would do it again if he could. 

Another low rumble from the sky had Henry thinking about his options for shelter. He didn’t want to see any of his family right now. Seeing them would feel like surrendering, like he’d thrown away all the ground he had gained from his earlier outburst. On top of that, he didn’t think he would make it to the town center by the time the rain started falling (He guessed it was going to rain, anyway. The sky had gotten too dark too fast to do anything but drop a torrent of water on the town at this point.). 

His castle in the park was a definite no-go. There would be no protection against the weather and his family would know to find him there. It was the first place they would look. 

He supposed he really should stay with a family friend for the night, like Granny or one of the dwarves. It would mean a call to his family letting them know he was safe and that he may or may not see them before lunch the next day, depending on how he was feeling, but Henry found he didn’t want to see anyone right then. Not just his family, but their friends too. They would all ask questions he wasn’t ready to answer yet, or worse, they would just think he was being childish by running away from home and from everyone that he needed to talk to about his frustration and anger. 

So where could he go that would give him the temporary solitude he wanted and a roof over his head? Were there any barns nearby? Or maybe the horse stables? He didn’t want to run away, per se, but he definitely wouldn’t mind being a realm or two away from the town for a while. 

Henry finally stopped walking and took a long look around to get his bearings. In the fading daylight he could see a paved road a short ways off, and in the distance beyond that…

A wave of relief swept through him as he recognized the towering building on the hill. It was the Sorcerer’s abandoned mansion, the one with the blank storybooks and the door to Arendelle. It would be perfect. He would be far enough from his family that he had time to think and be alone, and there would be a roof over his head for the storm. 

Henry reached the mansion in what was probably record time, mostly because he ran the last mile when the rain started. It would be dry and warm inside the mansion but he did not want to be drenched and shivering by the time he got there. 

Breaking in was all too easy since the doors were unlocked and unguarded, which made no sense at all to Henry. Who left somewhere with such a treasure trove of stuff unguarded like that? There had to be a magical booby trap somewhere? Or the owner could have at least invested in a security camera?

On second thought, there probably was no security camera. They weren’t exactly a common sight in Storybrooke after all.

The pounding rainfall outside made the idea of leaving the mansion less and less likely, and search as he might; there was nothing Henry could see that made him feel unsafe, or even unwelcome in the large estate. Every room had a warm light and a warmer air in it, as if the house was somehow alive or magically inclined to try and make Henry feel welcome. The idea that magic could have been involved in the mansion’s odd warmth should have made Henry nervous, but there was no uneasy gut feeling or alarm bells in his head that made him want to turn tail and run from the place. 

Maybe it was just a really friendly house with a really friendly and absent owner? 

When he could find no obvious reason not to stay, Henry quickly moved through the rooms, eager to find one with a couch or a bed where he could sleep. The mansion was so large and there were so many rooms and interconnected hallways that Henry realized he was checking the same rooms several times, unless of course there was more than one ballroom and several exact replica bedrooms all bedecked in the same red and gold theme. 

It was on what had to be his fourth re-entry into the hidden room with the blank storybooks that he found something weird: a doorway standing in the middle of the room that definitely was not there before. 

Henry’s thoughts instantly went to the Arendelle door from last month, but this doorway was different. The colors were wrong, and the patterns too. The Arendelle door was wintery, painted in cool blues, and it’s flowers were something Elsa had claimed were native only to her kingdom. This door was painted with images of what had to be a forest in rich browns and greens, and inlaid with engravings of white flowers. 

Henry instantly recognized the flowers from his storybook, or at least from the illustration borders. They were the snowbells surrounding the pages that followed his grandmother Snow White’s story, the flowers she was named for. This was a doorway to Snow White’s kingdom in the Enchanted Forest. 

It was like a bolt of lightning shot through him in epiphany. This could be his chance, he realized. He sure as hell wasn’t getting a chance to prove himself any time soon here in Storybrooke, but now he could finally go to the Enchanted Forest, could go on a quest or solve some small problem there, and his family would finally realize his worth in a crisis. After all, how often did a portal door just happen to show up in Storybrooke? If he didn’t take the door now, he might never see it again, might have missed his shot forever. 

He reached for the door, hand trembling in excitement. Maybe he would meet a knight who could show him a new fighting style? Or maybe there would be trolls to defeat or a princess to save? There might even-

Buzz Buzz! Buzz Buzz! 

Henry was pulled from his daydream by the vibrating of his cell phone deep in his backpack. It had slipped his mind to get in touch with his family about where he would be spending the night. He hadn’t been listening for his phone during his earlier trek either, so there were probably several messages and voicemails from everyone by now. 

He dug the phone out from his bag, holding it loosely to look at the caller ID. It was Emma. Hook and David had probably told her what happened by now. Regina had probably been told too. And if they all knew then Mary Margaret definitely knew and so did the rest of the town. 

Henry knew he was still angry from his earlier outburst, and that he was being rash and impulsive, but he also knew he couldn’t let this chance slide. And if he answered the phone now it might mean the end of his conviction to walk through the door. 

He dropped the still ringing phone to the ground, where it clattered noisily on the wooden floor. He wouldn’t need it the Enchanted Forest, he reasoned. There probably wasn’t cell reception anyway. 

Backpack on and mind made up, Henry pushed the door open; his head high as he walked through to what he hoped would be the first step on his quest for adventure and fulfillment.


	2. Chapter 2

“Why can’t I go after my grandson?

“Just wait a little longer, mate.”

“Hook.”

The pirate looked up at the prince, eyes imploring him to be patient for just a little longer, but David wouldn’t have it. If Killian wouldn’t let him go after Henry then there had to be a damn good reason why. 

Killian held the other man’s steely gaze for a moment, searching for something as he asked him, “What do you remember of being thirteen?”

The question made David pause as he realized where Killian was going with his logic. What did it matter what David was like at thirteen? He and Henry weren’t the same person and their worlds weren’t either, it wasn’t a fair comparison. “That’s different, I worked on a farm with my mother and the worst we had to worry about was Bo Peep. She was trouble but she wasn’t an evil curse.”

Killian’s eyes stayed locked on David’s and they narrowed, unhappy with the response. 

The pirate tried again. “But your mother trusted you to run things on the farm? To look after the livestock without her breathing down your neck?” 

David settled his hands on his hips and took a deep breath, hoping it would calm his growing annoyance at the pirate, but it only worsened. Didn’t he understand that rewording the same idea wasn’t going to make David suddenly see things differently?

“I’m telling you, this world and the Enchanted Forest aren’t the same. Back then I had to grow up enough to take care of things, but here, Henry doesn’t have to. He can be a kid and play and go to school for longer. He can let the adults figure out where to earn money for food, or how to fight a battle.” His breathing had picked up despite his best efforts and David could feel his shoulders tensing with every passing second he and Hook argued. 

Hook had the nerve to laugh. It was a mocking snort that had David itching to punch the pirate in irritation, composure be damned. “Battle? In your own kingdom the lad’s only a year away from conscription age, but here you won’t let him bear witness to a single foe. Better to throw him in a closet or in a vault or on a ship. If you’re so afraid of the world hurting him, why not just ship the lad off to Neverland then? Pan’s gone and so are the Lost Boys, there’s no one else as can hurt him there. Why not tuck Henry away on that Gods forsaken island where he’ll never grow up and he can remain innocent and carefree forever! At least then you need not fear him outgrowing any of his saviors!”

David gave in, and let his fist fly. The contact of his fist against Hook’s nose was all too satisfying, as was watching Killian take several steps back to recover from the blow. 

David thought he heard the pirate mutter “that again?” under his breath, but didn’t care enough to ask what he meant. His nose didn’t look broken, but a thin, slow trail of blood started to flow from it, and he dabbed at the redness with his hand. If Killian was angry about the punch, he didn’t show it. He seemed more annoyed than anything else, but even the annoyance fled his face after a moment and was replaced by something warmer and more resolute. 

“Mate, the point I’m trying-”

“He’s still a kid,” David interrupted, unwilling to let the pirate speak until he’d made his point. “The rest of us had to grow up too fast and that’s not what I want for Henry. He shouldn’t have to feel like the fate of the world is in his hands when all he should be thinking about is school or his friends. The kid deserves his best shot at something normal with his family and I’m not gonna take that from him just because he suddenly wants to learn to fight ogres.”

His voice started to shake at the end and his breathing had grown ragged, but David held Hook’s eyes steadily, hoping that his gaze would help drive home the point. He knew he was getting worked up but this was important to him. Henry having a life without fear of death that included the honest love of all his family was important to him. Hadn’t the kid suffered enough at Pan’s hands? And what about during the first curse when people tried to convince him he was insane? If David could keep his grandson from experiencing that kind of hurt again then he would do everything he could to make sure the boy was safe, even if that meant having Henry hide out somewhere.

Silence filled the space between them, the only sounds David’s shaking breathing and the wind blowing thick clouds across the sky. David didn’t acknowledge the coming storm though, only barely registering in the back of his mind that the clouds looked almost ready to drop a deluge of rain. 

Killian’s demeanor was calmer than David’s, even under the scrutiny of the prince’s stare. He waited several more heartbeats once he realized David was finished before speaking, his voice low but firm. 

“Mate, you’re absolutely right that Henry deserves his childhood, but he also deserves the chance to grow up if he chooses, which he clearly does. I’m not saying he’s ready to slay ogres or villains on his own but he’s no hatchling either. All he wants is to be treated as a young man, not coddled like a helpless babe. Henry’s more capable than many of us realize and I’d bet if we ask it of him, he’d rise to any challenge.” 

David could feel his eyes widen and his breathing slow closer to normal. 

It was only recently that David really appreciated just how perceptive the pirate was of the people around him and what drove them. It probably had a lot to do with his almost three hundred years of social interaction via piracy, but David suspected it had more to do with Killian’s nature. He was incredibly observant, and for all that he could talk anyone’s ear off he could also listen better than most. 

If Killian ever wanted a career as a therapist he would definitely give Archie a run for his money. 

When David didn’t respond immediately Killian added, “He has faith in all of you, perhaps what he’s asking now is for a return of that trust?”

David’s shoulders dropped in resignation. Of course he trusted Henry, but maybe Hook was right. Maybe he didn’t trust him as the young man he was growing into, but just as a grandson to be protected. He’d been looking at Henry through rose-colored glasses, only willing to see him through an idyllic childhood lens. What if he had created a mental block against Henry growing up because he didn’t want to accept that he had missed out on another family member’s childhood? 

Maybe it was time to take off the rose-colored glasses. David had already missed most of Henry’s life while in a coma; he didn’t want to miss the rest of his growing up. 

“We should talk to him. It’s getting dark,” David said, his tone softer this time to let Killian know he understood what the pirate was trying to say. 

Hook didn’t stop David this time as he strode forward toward the woods where Henry ran. He only sidled up next to him with the same eager footsteps.

“Where do you think he is? If his qualm is with all of us then I doubt he’d go to your flat or Regina’s home,” Killian noted, his tone quiet and still wary of David’s reaction. 

David didn’t have to think too hard about that. “If he’s not in the woods just watching us right now, then he went to his castle in the other park. Let’s give him a call first though. He always has his phone with him.” 

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed his grandson; unsure and a little nervous about what he would say when the boy picked up. An apology would probably be a good start, and then an offer to talk about everything over coffee. 

Ok, not coffee. Henry wasn’t that grown up yet. 

After several unanswered rings the call went to voicemail. At least they knew Henry’s phone still had battery. Maybe Henry was ignoring the call because he didn’t know what to say either, David thought. So he left a message, telling Henry he was sorry and could he please call him back so they could talk?

“Let me try, mate.” Killian pulled out his own phone and dialed. 

Same ringing. No response. Killian left his own apology message.

“Perhaps he’s still on edge?” Killian suggested, the hopefulness of his voice not quite reaching his eyes. 

“Maybe…” Something felt off, and David did his best to push the unease aside. The sooner they found Henry the better, and the sooner they talked to him the sooner they could move forward. 

David and Killian wandered the edge of the woods but found no sign of Henry. They each left several more messages on his phone as they searched, but there was still no returned phone call by the time they reached his castle at the other park, and the men were growing anxious. Their steps were faster and longer now, their movements a little more harried and restless. They swatted through the underbrush, not even following the paths anymore, hoping that some scrap of clothing had caught on a branch and left a trail. Soon they were both shouting Henry’s name in the woods, scaring off birds and animals. 

Unfortunately, there was no trace of Henry anywhere. 

The clouds were moving faster, closing in on Storybrooke with a ferocity that only made David more nervous. What if they couldn’t find him before the storm hit? What if Henry got lost in the woods and had to spend the night out in the rain and the cold and-

No. Breathe.

Remember what Killian said. Henry’s more capable than he’s given credit for. He’s been camping plenty of times with Robin Hood and Roland, and he knows the woods as well as anyone in town. Henry wouldn’t get lost, and his stubborn streak wasn’t so long that he would sit out in the rain to prove a point. Maybe he’d let Killian and David both wander aimlessly in worry for a while, but he definitely wouldn’t knowingly put himself in harms way. 

Henry would find shelter. He would find a family friend or someone else in town to stay with and he would call. 

Except when David tested that theory and called Granny, then Archie, and then several of the dwarves, they had no idea where Henry was. No one knew. 

David’s hands were shaking now, and Killian wasn’t fairing much better. The pirate had quickly realized Henry didn’t want to be found, and until he was found the blame for his disappearance would rest with him, since he was the one to hold David back from running after Henry in the first place. His one good hand rubbed his chin nervously, eyes darting about the forest looking for some clue as to where Henry had gone. 

Hook suggested they split up to widen their search. David was too caught up in his nerves to disagree, and with the promise of a phone call should either of them find anything, he watched Killian wander off deeper into the woods. 

It was growing darker and the sky rumbled in warning, an ominous reminder of the passing time. Had it been so long since Henry had run? Since Killian had gone to search on his own? David couldn’t tell anymore whether the sky was darkening because of the coming storm or because the sun was setting. Maybe he should have sent Killian with a flashlight. Not that he even had one to offer, but searching in the dark was useless if he couldn’t see. 

It was while David was retracing his steps toward the park that the sky opened up. The rain was heavy and fat, falling down in streams that were interrupted only by the thick foliage of the trees. But the evergreens could only stop so much of the deluge, and within minutes David felt his shirt and pants sticking to him like an ill-fitting second skin. 

The ringing of his phone pulled his mind from his misery. Had Henry finally called? Had the rain forced him to give up his hiding place?

But as he wrenched the phone from his pocket and saw his daughter’s name lighting up the screen, he forced himself not to be disappointed. Maybe Henry had gone to see her after all, and he’d told her about their fight and she was just calling to tell him Henry was safe. That was still possible, wasn’t it?

Hope somewhat restored, he answered the phone eagerly. “Emma!”

“Um, David, hi? Listen, Regina just called and wanted to know if Henry was still with you? Neither of us can get a hold of him.”

And just like that, any notions of an easy reunion were shattered. David had hoped that they would find Henry before Emma and Regina had a chance to realize their son had gone off. It was the only reason he had kept Henry’s storming off hidden from the boy’s mothers at all. That tiny ray of hope was all David had left to cling to, but now guilt rained on him as heavily as the water currently beating on him from the sky. 

“He’s um, well he’s…” 

“Dad? Where’s Henry?” His daughter’s voice hardened instantly. Trust a mother’s instinct to know when their children may be in danger. 

Better to bite the bullet. He shouldn’t have even kept it from her for this long. “Emma, you see…” He told her everything that had happened that afternoon. Henry seeming over eager about a sword fighting lesson, his anger during the spar, his outburst, and storming off into the woods. David did his best to remember Henry’s exact words, hoping Emma would be able to shine some light on Henry’s attitude the way Killian had, but he was met with stony silence. 

So Emma didn’t know about Henry’s feelings on the subject either. That couldn’t have been good for Henry’s efforts. 

He tried in vain to add the further explanation of Killian’s logic, how Henry was tired of being coddled and shoved aside when things got hairy with new villains and curses, and how it was and wasn’t different from David’s growing up on the farm. David wasn’t sure he was phrasing it right though because it sounded ridiculous to his own ears. It made sense when Killian said it, why didn’t it seem to make sense now that David was trying to tell someone else? 

He finally got a disgruntled response out of Emma, her expansive voice filling the hopeless void left by Henry’s continued absence. 

“Of course Killian would see through… But if Henry wanted to be treated like an adult he wouldn’t have run off. Shouldn’t have run off. Or he’d at least have the common sense to call someone or- I don’t know if he’s being dramatic or just- Grr! Forget it, I’m calling that kid again!”

The line went dead abruptly, and David became acutely aware of the heavy rain echoing in the dimming forest and just how cold and uncomfortable his soaked clothing was.

Shit.

Emma knew now. They were no closer to finding Henry and now the boy’s mother knew. Hell, both of his mothers were gonna know soon enough, and there was no way David would ever be ready to face their combined wrath. 

Shit shit shit.

They had to find Henry. 

Time wore on and the rain only worsened, along with David’s dwindling hope of finding Henry anytime soon. By now the rain had even soaked through his boots, seeping through his socks and into his skin. His throat was raw from yelling, fingers pruned, and phone clenched impossibly tight in his hand, all failed physical distractions from the fears racing through his mind.

What had happened to Henry? If he wasn’t answering anyone’s calls and there was no sign of him, then was he even all right? Was he hurt? 

David didn’t even hear his phone ringing again, only noticed the glow of the screen flashing the incoming call. He half prayed it was Emma again; calling to say Henry had finally answered her. When he saw Killian’s name, it was all David could do to grasp a string of hope that the pirate had found Henry. David had to believe that Killian’s solo search had yielded some answers. He couldn’t give up yet. His family never gave up on each other. 

“Killian?” God, his voice sounded so dead and defeated. He needed to be more hopeful. Where was the eagerness he’d had when Emma called? 

“Mate, it’s at the mansion! The doors were open and in this storm Henry would take shelter and maybe just want to talk this out with us but he went- Just get your arse over here! We can’t let him go any further!” It was hard enough to decipher the man’s lilted accent through the sloshing rain around David, but the pirate was also talking a mile a minute and David struggled to keep up.

“Killian, what the hell are you saying? What did you find?”

“Henry’s phone, mate! It’s at the mansion where that portal door to Arendelle was! Henry’s not here, but I know exactly where he’s gone and we need to hurry. There’s no telling what’s happened to him over there.” David had never heard Killian’s voice so borderline hysterical. The pirate was always composed under pressure. Something was very wrong if Killian was this frantic. 

“Over where?” He was terrified to ask, but he needed to know. 

“The Enchanted Forest, mate. I found Henry’s phone in front of a portal door to the Enchanted Forest. There are blank storybooks everywhere and there’s no sign of a struggle. He went through on his own.”

Shit.

Sheer headiness raced through David and the world spun. He was flooded half with relief at finally having some clue as to Henry’s whereabouts, and half terror at what was possibly to come for his grandson. 

So much for Henry not knowingly putting himself in harms way. 

Killian had said Henry wanted to be treated as an adult, and that the best way to start doing that was to talk to Henry like one. But apparently Henry had other ideas about what earning adulthood entailed. He’d gone through the portal to the Enchanted Forest, probably on some foolhardy quest to prove he was mature enough to stop a villain, and he would most likely be hurt in the process. Probably even trapped in the other realm. Travel between the worlds was still a rare and dangerous feat. 

Guilt settled in the pit of David’s stomach. What if by not taking Henry seriously before, David and the other grown ups in Henry’s life had pushed him to take such drastic measures? Was a quest to the Enchanted Forest really the only way Henry thought he could get their attention, or earn their respect and trust?

“Mate? Are you still there? You need to get here now! There’s no telling how long this portal will stay here!”

“I’m coming Killian, but I’m making a call first. Emma needs to know what happened.”

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Emma knew she was probably wearing a hole in the floor of her parent’s loft with all her pacing. Mary Margaret had taken baby Neal to his doctor’s appointment for a check up and wouldn’t be back for at least another hour, and she’d be less than pleased with the path worn into her floor when she returned. But Emma couldn’t find it in herself to care; she was too caught up in her thoughts as she replayed everything that had happened that afternoon. 

When Regina had first called asking for Henry, her voice tight and words clipped, Emma wanted to call the other woman a helicopter mom, the kind that couldn’t go ten minutes without knowing where their kid was. But she knew that would be hypocritical of her. Emma felt the same unease whenever Henry was missing for too long, so she couldn’t blame Regina for worrying, even if it made Emma feel like a helicopter mom too.

Regina was just trying to work through the same awkward dance they seemed to go through almost every day involving their son. It was a dance of phone calls and conversations revolving around trading nights for Henry, who was feeding him, who was taking him to and from school and on what days. 

Regina had tried to institute a schedule to make things easier for everyone, but the schedule never seemed to last the week when a new crisis forced everyone’s sleeping arrangements into total disarray, so they had given up on that all together. 

Something about Regina’s call though, it set off warning bells in Emma’s head, and her gut fluttering with anxiety.

So she’d called Henry, or at least tried to. Her son wouldn’t answer his phone and the butterflies inside Emma’s stomach only flapped harder. 

He was just busy sparring with David, she reasoned, just so busy for an entire day that neither of them had remembered to call.

When that thought didn’t lessen her growing concern, she called David, only to have every mother’s worst fear realized. 

Her son was missing. 

For an eternal moment her mind was in overdrive. Her traitorous thoughts painting gruesome and dark scenes of the terrible fate that could have befallen her son; Being taken hostage by a new villain come for revenge, sustaining a grievous injury, getting lost in the woods in the coming storm. What if this was Neverland all over again?

No. 

She couldn’t think like that. Couldn’t let her fears get the best of her. She was Henry’s mother and the Savior. She had to focus and find the answer. 

Something in what David was saying had to hold the key. He spoke frantically, obviously afraid of whatever her reaction might be (And he had every right to be terrified. Her son had gone missing under his watch and if Henry was hurt… No! Blame wouldn’t solve anything, only finding the solution! Focus!). 

Henry had run off on his own into the woods after unleashing what sounded like several years of pent up aggression and pre-teen angst, complaining about how nobody seemed to trust him to do anything but hide, and sometimes not even that much. Had he really been holding all of that in for the past few years? Why hadn’t Emma noticed? 

The tiniest weight lifted off of Emma’s chest. Running was Henry’s choice, she realized, not some new villain’s. He’d gone off for his own reasons, but with the barrier in place he was definitely still in the Storybrooke town limits, which meant they could find him and then talk to him about what was a less dramatic means of getting their attention. It didn’t change the fact that Henry was missing but at least she didn’t have to worry about some new form of magical evil hurting her son. All she had to worry about now was the time it would take to find him before the storm came in. 

While she was lost in her musings, David had kept on talking over the phone. Emma had no clue when Killian had shown up at the park, but apparently he had witnessed the entire exchange and had tried to explain to David how Henry wanted to prove he was growing up. He said something about how Henry was thirteen and not four years old, and then something about living on a farm (It didn’t honestly make much sense, the way David reiterated it, but she got the gist. Damn it if her pirate didn’t make sense even through the convoluted frantic speech of her father.). 

“Of course Killian would see through… But if Henry wanted to be treated like an adult he wouldn’t have run off. Shouldn’t have run off. Or he’d at least have the common sense to call someone or- I don’t know if he’s being dramatic or just- Grr! Forget it, I’m calling that kid again!” Just because she followed Killian’s logic it didn’t mean she had to like it. And just because she was the Savior looking for a solution that didn’t mean she wasn’t allowed to be at least a little emotional about her missing son. 

Henry’s outburst and running reminded Emma a lot of something she would have done while in the foster system. Her reasons for running had been different but she didn’t want Henry unknowingly repeating her greatest hits from back in the day. 

Another call to her son’s phone left her with nothing but more ringing and the chance to leave another message. Emma kept pacing the length of the apartment, phone tapping against her chin in failed distraction. 

Damn it. Should she call Regina and tell her what was happening? How would that conversation even go? Hey Reggie, Henry’s missing and we have absolutely no idea where he is or what the hell happened to him but don’t worry because we’ll find him without any clues at all. 

Right. Because that would go over so well with the former Evil Queen. 

She should go out and search too, she thought, but what good would it do when she had no idea where to start looking? She didn’t know which direction of the woods Henry had gone running into and she definitely didn’t know how to make a locator spell to find him…

But Regina would know. 

Damn it, she really would have to make the phone call. Fine then, she’d tell Regina what had happened, somehow take the blame for Henry’s disappearance, and then they could make a locator spell to find him. At least she had a plan of attack now and she could hopefully squash the niggling itch in the back of her mind that said something else was wrong. 

Emma was about to call Regina when her phone rang and her father’s name flashed on the screen.

“Tell me you found him,” He must have found Henry. That was the only reason he would be calling again. 

“Killian found Henry’s phone and he knows where he is!” No Henry, but it was the only lead they had so far. This was good right? Killian found Henry’s phone and Henry, so now they could all come back and talk things over. So why was she still nervous? This was more than just helicopter parent worry, there was something else going on. 

She bit her lip angrily, physically holding back a frustrated growl. Villain involvement or not, Henry’s disappearance was setting Emma on edge, and as much as she wanted this clue to be a good sign, it felt like a bad omen. Emma tried not to let her anger through too much but her words came out harsher than she intended. 

“Knows where…? If my son’s not with his own damn phone then where the hell is he?” There was the itch, the tickle in her mind that had been there since Regina first called asking about Henry’s radio silence. It was connected to his phone and the clues it provided. 

“The abandoned mansion. There’s a door there just like the Arendelle door that Elsa and the others used, but this one goes to the Enchanted Forest and it’s in a room with blank storybooks just like Henry’s. Killian thinks Henry went through it. I’m headed to the mansion now. Meet me there so we can-”

“I’m calling Regina.” Henry wasn’t in Storybrooke. Her son wasn’t in fucking Storybrooke anymore. The itch exploded into realization that her instincts were right and why didn’t she fucking listen to those instincts before? 

“Emma, there’s no time-”

“She’s Henry’s mom too and she deserves to know. We’re gonna need her help anyway. I’ll call her and tell her to meet us.” She hung up on her father without another word and dialed the next number. Barely a single ring passed before it was answered and Emma didn’t give the other woman a chance to say more than her name, too desperate to rattle off the necessary information and get moving herself. 

“Miss Swan-”

“Killian and David found a portal door to the Enchanted Forest at the abandoned mansion in the same room as the blank storybooks. Henry went through it. I’ll meet you there.” She said it all in one breath and hung up before the former Evil Queen could say a word. Emma grabbed her leather jacket off the coat rack and raced down the stairs to her car, fully prepared to break the land speed record to get to the mansion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we’ve got lots of reactions from Henry’s family. Everyone’s reactions are more/different from going to Neverland b/c back then they had more information to go on and Henry didn’t leave willingly. In contrast, walking through the portal door to the Enchanted Forest (Which we all know is no picnic of a place. It’s dangerous too.) on his own is kind of a slap in the face to everyone who tried to keep Henry safe, so they’re reactions are going to be that much more extreme. His family tries to keep him safe from harm, and he goes running off into the belly of the beast. 
> 
> For all that Henry is really sensible, he’s also prone to the same human ego and ambition as anyone else. 
> 
> Next time, Henry’s first encounter in the Enchanted Forest.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On to the Enchanted Forest with Henry! Thank you all for sticking with this story and for all of your faves/follows. Leave a review at the bottom; they are fuel for the muses. 
> 
> Warnings: Fantasy violence (That’s how the films describe it, right?), and descriptions of corpses and death (Not entirely sure if this bit needed a warning but better safe than sorry).

The first thing Henry noticed walking through the magic door, was how much better he liked this inter-realm portal than the one he’d been forced through to Neverland. He had been kidnapped by his dad’s supposed fiancé and her boyfriend through a watery portal that had landed him flat on his back on what had to be the most miserable beach he would ever see. And then the Lost Boys had shown up with their welcome wagon and things just got worse and worse.

Inter-realm kidnappings were no easy business. 

Using the mansion doorway though, was as easy and nondescript as walking into another room, albeit a really big room that looked like a charming forest. For all Henry knew he wasn’t even in the Enchanted Forest, and it was all just a magical room or illusion in a very large and poorly planned mansion. 

It certainly felt real though. Birds chirped from somewhere in the canopies of towering evergreens, and the air was heavy with the smell of the forest. Henry took a deep breath, taking in the heavy scent of pines and fallen leaves after rainfall. Had it been raining here just like in Storybrooke? It seemed like an odd coincidence, unless that was just how the weather here usually was? 

The door closed itself behind him with a soft click, but didn’t disappear from its place standing in the middle of the woods, all at once promising an escape route back home but teasing Henry to just try and reopen it. Henry’s gut told him it would be locked, and he suddenly felt like he’d been cut off, as if he were well and truly alone now. This was not just a room. He really was in the Enchanted Forest. And he really was on his own. 

A strained smile reached his face. He would worry about getting back to Storybrooke after his quest was over, whenever that was. 

Henry readjusted his backpack on his shoulders, straightening the straps in hopes of physically setting his resolve. This was what he wanted, a chance to prove himself. And what better way to do that than on a quest in the Enchanted Forest? 

The only way to go now was forward, so that’s what Henry was going to do. 

He just wished he knew which way that was exactly…

Looking around again, the once charming fairy tale scene was suddenly vast and foreboding. He had no idea what time of day it was, or where the sun even was in the sky. The tree line was too dense, and the clouds were too thick. 

Robin Hood had told Henry once while camping with the Merry Men that he always had a compass bearing in mind. As long as he knew which way was north, he always felt at least somewhat in control of his destiny. Henry briefly wondered if a world full of magic would somehow affect his compass differently, since it was made in another realm. He quickly pulled off his bag and groped through the contents for his compass, finding it tucked on the bottom under a notebook. 

Henry laid the compass flat in his hand, watching the arrow spin wildly for a moment before it settled on a point somewhere towards his right. Unless some weird sort of magic was involved that affected magnetic fields, then that had to be north. 

He had nothing to lose, so why not just pick a direction, and stick with it? See what happened? At least he had some sort of directional bearing now. As long as he started moving he would hopefully run into a sign of people or a town eventually, what did it matter which way he started looking?

He would try west. There was always adventure out west. It would be like those cowboy movies where the heroes rode off into the sunset to their next adventure. 

So that was what Henry did. Compass in hand, he walked west in a magical forest with no idea what might be out there, just hoping to run into something. 

And run into something, he did. 

It was less than half an hour after he started walking (He may not know the actual time of day, but he could at least keep track of how much time passed), when he heard the clang of swords and cries of a fight. 

Henry’s feet raced to the source of the sound, eager to see what was happening. It should have scared him, the idea of an actual fight where people got hurt or died, but he was too excited. Finally, something to see that wasn’t childproofed or toned down. He could see what a real sword fight looked like and find out who was fighting. Maybe he would get to meet another fairy tale character from his book?

He reached the edge of a small clearing, and moved to watch the fight unfold from behind a thick tree. 

At first Henry was shocked to see what looked like a group of trolls all ganged up on one person, but as he watched he saw that the one person was handling everything easily. The knight dodged and parried every attack the creatures sent their way, tossing aside the axes and spears with a few well-placed sword strokes and quick footwork. 

Even though they weren’t dressed like a traditional knight, they were exactly the kind of warrior that Henry wanted to go on a quest with. Their helmet and armor were made of thick leather and cloth instead of metal, but it didn’t seem to matter because the trolls weren’t landing any blows and the knight clearly knew what they were doing and were in total control of the fight. They knocked the creatures to the ground one after the other with brutal efficiency, dodging about like it was all some deadly choreographed dance. 

It wasn’t until one of the creatures, previously unconscious, moved to strike the knight from behind that Henry revealed his hiding place.

“Behind you!” He cried, unaware he’d moved from behind the tree or said anything until the words had left his mouth. 

The knight and the trolls all looked up, startled at Henry’s sudden appearance. But the knight recovered first, and drove a long sword through the attacking creature’s gut, a strangled groan escaping it before it dropped to the ground. The knight’s sword cut swiftly through the flesh of two more of the creatures, both falling to the ground while they bled out, unmoving. A fourth creature was shoved aside while the knight exchanged blows with the largest and last troll in the group, which was so powerful looking it could probably smash a tree trunk with its bare hands. 

Even with the obvious precision of their sword work, Henry could tell the knight was getting tired. They’d been fighting too many enemies for too long and their movements were starting to get sloppy. If they didn’t take down the last two creatures soon it’d be over for them.

The next moments happened in slow motion for Henry. He saw the creature that had been shoved aside recover and move to swing an ax over its head. It was intent on bringing the weapon down on the knight, who was unaware and caught up fighting the largest creature. Henry reacted, and threw his arm in a pitch he desperately hoped was reminiscent of the one baseball game at Yankee Stadium he and Emma had gone to during the forgotten year. The compass left his hand in a long arc and somehow hit it’s mark. It flew straight into the head of the ax-wielding troll, not knocking the thing unconscious, but startling it and forcing it’s attention away from the knight for a moment longer. 

The moment was everything the knight needed to kick the largest creature away several steps, swiftly turn around, and decapitate the distracted ax troll before turning back to the last foe. The behemoth of a troll approached the knight: arms overhead and mouth open in a ferocious scream, ready to smash the knight to bits. But even in exhaustion the knight was still faster, and avoided the troll’s arms to shove the sword straight through the creature’s throat, stopping it in its tracks. 

They held the blade there for a moment and Henry watched in captivated horror as the troll tried to breathe through the sword in its throat and the blood that was quickly filling its lungs. With a great cry the knight heaved the sword sideways, halfway decapitating the troll and throwing its body to the ground with a heavy thud. 

Silence filled the air and now that the fight itself was over, Henry could take in the carnage before him. The lone knight was drenched in the blood of their enemies, standing over their corpses, shoulders heaving in exhaustion and sword dripping red. It was a gruesome picture, far more so than Henry would have ever expected to find in someplace as supposedly magical as the Enchanted Forest. 

The image only half shocked him though, he realized in surprise. He’d grown up and learned the dark history of all his family members and the twisted truth of their fairy tale lives. Between literal stolen hearts, kidnapped children, wars, curses, and general death and destruction at every turn, Henry knew a sword fight was probably as simplistic as his adventure here was going to get, even one as gory and intimate as this. 

That was probably why it didn’t occur to Henry right away to be revolted by the sight of the dead. Nor did it occur to him to be afraid of the knight, although it definitely should have, considering he had just witnessed the knight’s full fighting prowess take out five trolls. If anything, he was still unnaturally excited at this chance meeting. Of all the people he could have run into in the Enchanted Forest, he found a skilled knight. 

This wasn’t luck. It had to mean something. 

“That was amazing!” He exclaimed, moving into the clearing to pick up his compass. His eyes tunneled in on the knight. “And you are totally badass! Where’d you learn to fight like that? It was so cool!”

The knight didn’t even turn toward Henry. Their helmet-clad head tilted to one side as they spoke, voice muffled by the material. 

“You sound pleased,” The voice started, confused, “But what does an unruly donkey have anything to do with me, and how can it be a good thing?”

“No, no, it’s an expression. It’s kind of like admiration because you’re tough.” Clearly he would have to tone down some of the terminology from his world; otherwise he’d be explaining every other word he said. 

The knight moved to wipe their sword clean with their cloak before sheathing it in one motion, and taking a long look at the dead trolls surrounding them. “This is not something to be pleased with. I should not have killed them. They were victims of circumstance.”

“Oh, um… I didn’t know,” He finished dumbly, unsure how to respond to the somber tone. “What kind of circumstance?”

“Something forced them from their home, and I intend to find out what.” The knight turned to face Henry, pausing for a moment in contemplative silence before speaking again. “Have we met before? You seem familiar.”

“Not unless you’ve been hopping realms.” He struck out one hand to the knight in belated greeting. “I’m Henry.”

The knight looked at his hand briefly, then reached up to remove their helmet. Long black hair spilled out and piercing, feminine brown eyes met Henry’s in acknowledgment as their hands met in a firm shake. “It is good to finally meet you Henry. I’m Mulan.”

“The Mulan? Mulan Mulan?” Henry couldn’t help it. He was completely star-struck. He had already been impressed with the knight’s bravery and skill, but the knight in question turned out to be the one and only Mulan. This must have been what it would feel like to be saved from the Terminator by Arnold Schwarzenegger. 

Mulan was suddenly fidgety and nervous at Henry’s excitement, shifting her weight on her feet. “Is there another with my name…?” Henry realized he was still clutching her hand and quickly dropped it, but his excitement did not lessen. 

“No way! It’s totally you! Oh my God, this is so cool! I didn’t think I’d get to actually meet you. I mean, you’re movie was really good and when mom and Mary Margaret said they met you-”

“There’s that word again, movie,” Mulan interrupted. “What is it? Baelfire used it and he never explained.”

“Baelfire? You mean Neal? He’s my dad! Did you know him?”

She nodded, a small smile coming to her face in memory. “That’s why I recognized you, Henry. You look so much like him. And your mother told me of you when I met her; she’s a brave woman. Are they both well?”

Henry suddenly felt a familiar weight settle in his gut. The same conflicted weight that always came when he thought of his dad. It was less than it used to be, but it was no less strange. He’d barely known the man, and didn’t have his memories of him when he died. Even when he’d gotten his memories back, he realized he had very few memories of him and his father together, and there was no way to fix that now that he was gone. Almost everything he knew about Neal was a second hand story, and he had to rely on other people to paint a picture of the man half responsible for his existence. 

“He um, my dad died, actually, about a year ago. He’s buried back in Storybrooke. Mom’s back there too. Alive, though! She’s alive, just, back in Storybrooke.”

Mulan’s expression softened in apology. “I’m sorry to hear that. He was a good man.” Her eyes turned thoughtful. “Does this mean you’re alone here?”

“Well…” He shrugged, “Yeah. Just me.”

Her eyes went wide with sympathy. “Henry that’s terrible. Being forced from your world. I’ll do my best to help you return to your family but I’m afraid I know very little about portal magic.”

“What? No, I wanted to come by myself. I just walked through a door and ended up here.” 

Mulan’s face was incredulous. “You chose to leave the safety of your family to come somewhere so dangerous? Why?”

Her disbelief had Henry defensive. He stubbornly crossed his arms in front him, puffing out his chin. “I’m thirteen, and my family doesn’t get that I’m growing up. I have to prove that I’m not some little kid they can shove in a closet when things get bad, I can help them. This is the best way to get them to see that.”

She sighed in frustration, moving to collect various items from the troll’s corpses into a pile. The ax and spears they’d attacked her with, some jewels, and several small bags of what sounded like coins. “Henry, this isn’t about being a child or an adult. It’s dangerous for anyone to be out here alone.”

“You’re out here alone.”

“And it’s just as dangerous for me, but I’ve learned to be alone,” She insisted, turning a sharp look on Henry. Her eyes were hard and seemed older, lonelier, in that moment. It made him wonder just how long she had been on her own. She shook her head; clearing whatever thoughts she may have had from her face, and kept collecting items from the trolls. 

Henry wanted to keep arguing with her, but bit his tongue to stop himself. He wanted to tell her he was ready for this, ready for his own adventure and his own chance to prove himself. But the loneliness in Mulan’s eyes struck a chord in him. It was the same look he had seen on Emma when he found her in Boston. She had been on her own for so long, and as he learned later, had been hurt by people close to her. It took his mom a long time to open herself up to others, but since then she was thriving. At least, Henry thought she was. She’d definitely taken up the mantle of Savior with some serious authority since the Wicked Witch affair, and didn’t look like she was slowing down anytime soon.

But it had all started because he found her in that nearly empty Boston apartment, and believed in her. 

Maybe that was why the door had brought him to Mulan out of all the places it could have dumped him in the Enchanted Forest. Maybe he was supposed to believe in her, and she in him. 

He was convinced that meeting Mulan wasn’t just luck, and that it was supposed to happen. If that were the case, then Henry would make the most of what fate had thrown his way.

“I’m coming with you, Mulan. You said so yourself, it’s dangerous to be alone, so I’m coming with you.” Killian had once told Henry to never knowingly make an enemy when an ally could be gained instead. Supposedly that thinking was what led to Hook’s adventure up the beanstalk with his mom, but if Henry remembered Hook’s telling of the story correctly then it had ended with Emma handcuffing him to some rubble in the giant’s castle. 

Somehow Henry didn’t think Mulan would cuff him to anything. 

Mulan looked hesitant, mouth drawn into a thin line as she considered Henry’s idea. It was another look he recognized from his mom’s early days in Storybrooke. She wasn’t saying no, but she wasn’t saying yes either. 

“I can help you figure out what happened with the trolls,” He tried, “You said they were victims of circumstance, that they’d been forced out of their home. What did you mean?” 

She kept her eyes locked on his for another moment. Henry could see her mentally weighing the pros and cons of telling him the details of her quest. Every controlled breath she took was another point for or against him, and he was getting antsy with the wait. Unlike Emma, Mulan seemed meticulous and thorough in her decisions, playing out every scenario in her mind until she reached a satisfying conclusion that would leave no room for question. No matter how long it took her. 

His fate rested in her hands, so all he could do was try not to fidget while he waited. 

She took a final, long breathe in through her nose, then let it out loudly, and Henry swore it was somehow more decisive sounding then any of her sword strokes against the trolls. 

“Trolls don’t leave their bridges and dens for much except the passing traveler. They rob them, sometimes kill them, and hoard the treasure for themselves,” She started, moving back to the pile of items she had created, neatening it briefly before turning to start rolling the trolls bodies into a row several feet away. It was only then that Henry re-noticed the bodies, his stomach turning at the sight and stench of them only feet away from where he stood. 

Mulan seemed unconcerned, and kept working, and explaining. “But these trolls robbed a village several miles from where their den should be. Something forced them from their home, and if it could force them this far, there’s no telling what else it could do, or has already done.”

Watching Mulan maneuver the trolls was probably the most disturbed Henry had ever felt, but somehow that word didn’t quite cover it. The sight stirred something in his gut that had him nauseous and green and wanting to throw up at the smell of it all, but at the same time there was a stone in his throat, keeping him from upchucking anything, no matter how much he wanted to. Somehow, he knew that standing there watching her would only make it worse. Maybe helping her would put him less on edge, even though he would be touching the corpses. 

He grabbed two scraps of cloth from one of the trolls and wrapped his hands before helping Mulan in her efforts. He’d been half right about helping Mulan. Moving the heavy, lifeless bodies of the trolls gave him something to focus on, even if it was the very thing he was trying to distract himself from. 

Thankfully, it wasn’t long until the five trolls were lined up, flat on their backs, and Mulan stood in front of them with her head bowed. 

Henry didn’t know exactly what she was doing, but he knew it would be disrespectful to interrupt. He waited until she lifted her head again to ask. 

“A moment of silence for them,” She answered. “It’s not an entirely proper burial, but it’s the least I can do. They truly did not need to die this day.” Henry had never really considered what happened after a sword fight. He’d learned enough history in school to know that after great battles the dead were sometimes collected for mass burials and other times left to rot in the fields on which they fell. But after a sword fight like this, where there were only five dead, he had no clue what the norm was. So Mulan’s arrangement of their bodies and silence was about as expected as anything could have been, even if it had been uncomfortable and morbid. But coming from her, the whole thing teemed with a sense of honor and respect. The trolls weren’t trained warriors like Mulan, but she had done her best to show them some respect even in death. 

It made Henry very aware of the fact that taking lives, deserving or otherwise, was nothing to treat lightly. 

Mulan’s voice broke through the melancholy his thoughts led him down. “If you wish to come with me, then you can help me bring these back to the village,” She said, hefting several spears over one shoulder, bags of valuables dangling from the ends. 

Henry stilled. It wasn’t the first moment of doubt he’d had since coming to the forest only an hour ago, but it was definitely the most vivid. He wanted to go with her, and even though that meant more adventure it also meant more death and danger. He had thought he was ready to bear all that, to handle that kind of heaviness. Henry knew he could handle himself in a fight, but what about what happened after the fighting was done? Handling the trolls had left him queasy and unsure, could he really handle that kind of aftermath? 

He took a calming, full body breath. 

The only way to go now was forward, and he knew now more than ever that meeting Mulan was not a chance occurrence. 

She would help him prove his worth. She would be able to teach him what it took to succeed on a quest and handle the aftermath. And he would believe in her, and hopefully help get rid of some of that loneliness in her eyes. 

This was his chance, and he wasn’t letting it go. 

Henry set his shoulders, hoping to shake off the last of the unease from handling the troll’s bodies, and started picking up the remaining weapons and bags. 

He saw Mulan was waiting for him on the western side of the clearing. He chuckled at the realization that he was still moving west, and walked toward her with the remaining items.

She noticed his sudden laughter and her head tilted in confusion, silently asking what was so funny when he’d been so uncomfortable only moments before. 

“It’s nothing, Mulan, it’s just… We’re going west. I randomly picked a direction to go when I got here, and now I’m still going that way.” It was dumb, but moving further west made Henry feel just a bit better. Like this was the right thing to do and he wasn’t crazy for waltzing through the doorway in the first place. God, he’d barely come to the forest more than an hour ago, how could he have gone through so many ups and downs already? 

She considered him briefly. “You think this is a good sign? Traveling in the same direction?” 

“I ran into you, didn’t I? Seems like a pretty good sign to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m unreasonably excited to write Mulan! We know so little about her background on OUAT but there are so many possibilities to play with. It’s fun to see her pop up in seemingly random places on the show and make the rounds with so many characters. She’s been on journeys with Belle, Philip, Aurora/Mary Margaret/Emma, Hook, Robin Hood et al. Neal… The woman is EVERYWHERE. 
> 
> Right now I’ve got her pegged as a very honor-bound warrior so we’ll see where the muses take her in terms of growth (I know where I want her to go. I just need to get her there.). 
> 
> As always, drop a line with questions/comments/concerns/predictions


	4. Chapter 4

By the time David arrived at the mansion night had fallen, his truck was running on fumes, and he wasn’t sure he could feel his fingers. Either the digits had gone so cold in the rain that he really had lost feeling or he had gripped the steering wheel so tightly he’d cut off his own circulation. 

As if a little thing like finger sensation mattered right now. 

The rain was pounding harder and felt like it was trying to blind him as he drove up the road and haphazardly parked in the middle of the mansion driveway behind Emma’s yellow bug. He slammed the door shut and ran up the steps, taking them three at a time. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Regina speeding up the driveway. She pulled up behind him, her car screeching to an angry halt on the pavement. David could feel the anger rolling off the Queen. It was a miracle she hadn’t set anything on fire yet. Her control must’ve barely been in check. 

David didn’t know his way around the extensive mansion, and was ready to run through every room and floor, screaming for Emma and Killian until he found them. Before he could, Regina called out to him impatiently from a side hallway, “This way! Hurry up!” 

“How do you know-?”

She didn’t answer him, already turning down the hallway with surefooted strides, the heat of her magic practically scorching the air around her. For all her obvious fury, she was very controlled, the line of her shoulders rigid and strong. Her physical assuredness was a stark contrast to the turmoil that must have been exploding inside of her at Henry’s disappearance. 

David ran after Regina, following her around every tucked in corner and side door. He nearly lost sight of her several times when she pulled on a trick book or false candle to open a secret passage. This mansion was a labyrinth that would drive a person insane.

Whether it was five minutes later or fifty, it took entirely too long for David’s liking to reach the secret book room. As they entered he saw Killian standing dejected to one side and watched Emma drop her glowing hands to angrily pull on the handle of a painted wooden door that stood ominously alone in the middle of the room. 

“Seriously? Open damn it!”

“I told you, Emma, it was locked when I got here. We don’t know what kind of magic surrounds this door. Perhaps it means to keep us out.” To say Killian looked terrible would have been a gross understatement. He wore the face of a man about to fall from his last hope. The pirate had been out in the storm for the better part of the afternoon and had sat in front of the tauntingly locked portal for the rest of the day, so close but unable to go after Henry to remedy his perceived mistake. Killian was still probably thinking that it was all his fault that Henry had gotten to this door, how if he hadn’t held David back in the park they could all be talking to Henry in the safety of Storybrooke instead of trying to fly to the Enchanted Forest after him.

Emma finally let go of the door handle to face Killian, whose hand and hook were paused halfway to holding her, torn between moving closer and pulling back. 

Emma’s voice was barely restrained in anger as she spoke, “There has to be a way through this door. My magic opened the door to Arendelle, so why won’t it work here?” It broke David’s heart to see his daughter like this. She was so close to being able to run after Henry but was stopped dead in her tracks. This wasn’t about being the Savior and unable to help someone, this was Emma Swan the mother, unable to go after her son. 

Regina had heard enough. While David watched Emma and Killian, the Queen had been studying the door and whatever magic prevented it from being opened again. She lifted her hands and David watched in fascination as they glowed an eerie bright green. 

“Move,” She seethed, her voice no louder than usual but carrying a weight and authority that had Emma and Hook snapping to attention, finally noticing the two new comers.

Hook’s arms finished their initial movement and reached for Emma, pulling her away from the door just as Regina shot the green light at the portal. A white light shone around the door on impact, revealing the barrier keeping it shut. The barrier started cracking in green and white splinters as Regina’s magic worked through the portal’s shield. With every shattered piece of the shield, the door slowly started to open. 

“But how…” Emma started, wide-eyed. She held her hands loosely in front of her, and David knew she was questioning her abilities. 

Regina cried out in effort and a brighter pulse of green light emanated from her hands. The light shot into the barrier and pulled the door open wide enough for a person to fit through. 

“I’m forcing it. Now go!” Regina called, eyes locked on the doorway. 

Emma didn’t need to be told twice and she raced through the door at full speed. Hook quickly followed, both of them disappearing into the splintering green and white streaks of magic. 

From where he stood behind Regina, David could see her shoulders shaking from magical strain. And as he moved to run through the door himself he caught sight of Regina’s face. Her mouth was tight but trembling, her eyes narrowed angrily but brimming with unshed tears. She wasn’t going through the portal, he realized. Regina was staying to keep the doorway open and was sacrificing her chance to find her son. She trusted them to bring Henry back safe. 

In that split second, he made a choice. Instead of running through the portal, he grabbed the door to wrench it open further. As soon as his hands touched the wood he felt a surge of energy pour through him. It was like lightning and fire rushing through his veins, burning him from the inside out. His hands felt scorched and seared where they met the wood of the door, and he didn’t know if his desperate attempt would make a difference at all in keeping the portal open. He only knew he wanted Regina to have the chance to go after her son. 

Regina’s eyes locked with David’s in surprise and her mouth opened, probably to yell at him for wasting time. She never got the chance to reprimand him though, because he yelled out to her first. 

“Go!”

Regina paused only a second longer to send David a single, grateful look before running through the shattering portal herself. As soon as she crossed the threshold, the door was yanked from David’s hands and snapped shut with a resounding thud. He fell to the floor, suddenly exhausted and barely able to move, the world fading in and out of focus around him. He wondered briefly if that was what handling magic was like. It was pure and lethal power and took the life right out of him. 

And apparently also his skin. Looking down at his palms David found that the scorching feeling from the door was far from imaginary, and had left some very physical marks on him. His hands were burned an angry red and blistered in several spots. If he had held on any longer he could very well have lost all of the skin, could have lost the hands themselves. Maybe he wasn’t meant to handle that kind of magic, he thought wearily. But the deed was done and he wouldn’t change his actions. 

There was no doubt in his mind that he made the right decision to have Regina go through the portal instead of him. He remembered when Zelena had taken his son Neal from the hospital only months before. Being able to run after her had been a blessing David didn’t know he’d had. It had given him a sense of purpose at the time, instead of having to wait for someone else, albeit people he trusted, to bring his son back to him. 

Looking at the painted door David knew it would stay locked now. If there were already magical protections in place that even Regina had to force her way through then it was inevitable that the door stay closed. But maybe he could get Belle to help him find a way to open it for the return journey. She knew Gold’s shop and inventory like the back of her hand. There had to be a spell in there that she could use.

Just as David was beginning to hope the door would be his family’s ticket back to Storybrooke, it started to vanish. Bit by bit, in circles of white and green tinged light, the door dematerialized in front of him. It was as if the door read his thoughts and was taunting him, saying ‘nope, not this way’. 

Soon he was left lying in the room with the blank storybooks, alone with his thoughts and seared skin. Not knowing if Emma and the others had even reached the Enchanted Forest or if they had been thrown through the portal to somewhere realms away from Henry. He had to believe they would find each other though, because if there was one thing David Nolan and his family were good at, it was never giving up on each other. 

He would have to tell Mary Margaret what happened, he blearily realized, and then they could talk to Belle about finding a different portal to bring everyone home. Of course, he would have to find the energy to move first though.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

Anger was the first thing that crossed Regina’s mind when she saw David trying to hold the door open himself without magic. How dare he waste her efforts, she had thought. He knew she didn’t need help opening the portal, had seen his daughter and the pirate run through it already. So what in the hell did he think he was trying to prove?

Gratitude was the next thing to cross her mind. He’d told her to ‘go’, to find Henry while he stayed behind. She didn’t question it or waste another moment, only hoped he understood her unspoken thanks as she raced through the doorway. Whether or not he realized the depths of what he had done in that moment Regina knew she would be forever thankful for his trust in her and understanding that she needed to find Henry herself. 

Robin was gone from her life forever, and Regina knew she couldn’t handle losing Henry too, not again. At least by going to the Enchanted Forest herself she felt as if she had a say in the matter of her son’s return. 

Unlike other portal doors where a single step was all that was needed to cross the realms, this portal felt like running through a long tunnel. A tunnel that happened to be collapsing and proverbially flooding behind her, trying to pull her under its magical weight, but Regina ran harder, her legs burning with the effort. She could feel something ahead of her pushing back as she ran blindly forward, trying to force her into the abyss behind her. It was like trying to sprint through rapids while outrunning a whirlpool, and it was just as impossible to breathe. 

Something really didn’t want them getting through that door. 

The realization made Regina run harder, just to prove her would be nemesis wrong. Her lungs burned from the lack of air and her legs threatened to give out on her, but couldn’t give in, not when Henry’s life could be on the line. She burst through a barrier only moments later, leaving the drowning maelstrom of the portal behind. Suddenly she was weightless, nothing pushing against her front and nothing chasing her down from the back. Her limbs sputtered in relief at the lack of pressure and she flew forward. It was several steps before she caught herself from careening face first into the muddy ground, arms thrown out beside her in an attempt at balance. 

It took her a few moments to catch her breath, but even then she still felt winded. She had used too much magic to force the portal open, Regina realized. It could be days before she got back to full strength. That was time she didn’t have. Henry could be in danger at that exact moment and she wouldn’t be able to help. 

A squelching sound brought Regina’s attention to her traveling companions, who were currently finding their feet in the muddy forest clearing. It was so dark she had trouble seeing their figures standing several feet away. 

Hook, though completely drenched from the rain in Storybrooke, seemed to be mud free, and was currently lending a hand to the Savior, who had tumbled into the slick ground. 

“You ok?” Regina heard him ask, puppy dog eyes probably pleading as usual. 

Emma took his offered hand up and brushed the mud off her jeans and leather jacket as best she could. “Just once I’d like to land on my feet out of a portal,” She muttered, annoyed. 

A loud slam echoed through the clearing and the three whipped around to watch the portal door slam angrily shut. The door started to dematerialize in a mist of green and white light that lit the dark clearing in an eerie glow; giving the three several moments of light that lingered after the door vanished. 

The pirate turned to Regina. “Where’s David?” He asked warily. Emma’s eyes stayed nervously glued to the disappearing door. Regina knew that she was afraid her father was trapped inside the portal during its collapse, but she didn’t need to worry.

“He let me go through,” Regina answered. When two sets of eyes locked onto her she shifted her feet, anxious under their scrutiny. “David held the door open and let me go through instead of him. He’s back in Storybrooke.”

Green eyes met brown and held them for a moment before softening. Emma realized why her father let her through instead of coming himself, and Regina was grateful for the Savior’s understanding. The one thing they’d had in common since before the first curse was broken was their personal responsibility for Henry’s safety. 

Emma absently flipped her blonde hair over one shoulder with a still muddy hand, eager to move the conversation forward. “So, if we had that hard a time getting through the door, then how the hell did Henry manage it?”

“Perhaps the doorway chose to let him in, but only him,” Hook offered. “It may be a temperamental portal of sorts.” 

“Doors can be picky? I don’t know if I buy it. I thought portals were supposed to just be open or closed? Not have moods.” Emma cast a doubtful look at the pirate, but looked a little unsure of her logic. 

“The pirate may be right,” Regina noted, surprising them both. “It’s not exactly about mood, but there are some portals that are magically inclined to only let certain types of people through, like the pure-hearted. But this door…”

“But this door what?” Emma asked, taking several steps toward Regina, boots squelching in the mud.

Regina struggled to put the words together in her mind. She wasn’t certain herself yet, and she didn’t want to give the wrong impression about the portal’s nature, lest it lead them all on a wild goose chase away from Henry. 

“If it were about being pure of heart, that wouldn’t have stopped you, Miss Swan. You are a product of true love and have plenty of light magic ability,” She mused. “This portal’s magic was… raw somehow, and untrained. It looked like the Arendelle door and even tried to behave like it, but it was just a field of shifting energy and intention.”

“And for those of us not magically inclined…?” Hook questioned, irked at being out of the loop. 

“You were right Killian. Someone didn’t want anyone but Henry using that door,” Emma’s voice was hollow in realization. Regina didn’t want to admit what such a thing implied, but she knew Emma was thinking the same thing as her. A portal made specifically for Henry could mean someone wanted to lure Henry away. Maybe they had a vendetta against her or the Savior or someone else from Henry’s life, or maybe word had gotten out that Henry possessed the heart of the truest believer. Information like that couldn’t have stayed confined to Neverland forever. It wasn’t much of a stretch to assume his heart could be used for any number of magical purposes, be they dark, light, or otherwise. 

“Possibly,” Regina answered, voice tight and her arms curling tensely around her. 

The three were quiet for several moments, lost in their thoughts of what magical force had brought Henry to the Enchanted Forest and been so keen on keeping everyone else out. 

Fully taking in their surroundings for the first time Regina realized her clothes were probably the least practical things to be wearing in the Enchanted Forest after a rainstorm and she wished she had brought a rain jacket of some sort with her. Instead, she was stuck wearing the pencil skirt, blazer, and blouse she had spent the day doing paperwork in. While her boots were at least slightly more practical than stilettos, even with their thin heels, she was sorely tempted to use what little magic she had right now to change outfits. 

She knew she wouldn’t though. 

The portal had dumped them on the top of a wooded hill, overlooking a misty valley of dense pine forest. It had clearly rained earlier, and for the rain to seep through the thick trees of the forest enough to muddy the ground this much, it must have been one hell of a storm. But the sky was mostly clear now, moonless and starry with only the barest wisps of spent rainclouds floating through the night air, and when Regina looked up she saw the constellations of her childhood. If Regina remembered correctly and if the doorway worked like other portals she had used, then it was probably around the same time of night and year here as in Storybrooke.

“Does anyone else find that particular blot of mist to be a tad out of place?” Hook pulled the two women out of their reverie, pointing to a wall of impenetrable clouds trapped in one corner of the valley several miles away, covering a good chunk of the forest below. The clouds were too thick to just be mist or fog, and more closely resembled the dense thunderclouds that probably caused the earlier heavy rain. But the way they just sat in the valley, impossibly unmoving and stoically rigid, had warning bells going off in Regina’s mind. 

There was something magical and wrong about those clouds. 

“Why do I get the feeling Henry probably walked straight into that stupidly ominous mist?” Emma asked, decidedly not amused at the realization. 

“Because he’s our son and a trouble magnet,” Regina replied easily. She knew logically it was too dark to safely follow after Henry’s trail, (Assuming he’d willingly gone into the grounded cloud of death in the first place, but then again, where else would he go?) but she’d be damned if she was going to let something as inconsequential as a lack of light stop her. “Miss Swan, I do believe we need some light if we’re going down this hill anytime soon.” 

Emma looked at Regina curiously. “You’re not gonna use your fireballs?”

Regina gave in to the urge to roll her eyes. “I can’t do all the magical heavy lifting, or did you miss the part where I forced open a locked portal?”

The Savior looked ready to snap something at Regina, but the one-handed wonder swooped in front of Emma with a hand on her shoulder “Emma, love,” He started quickly. “Henry can’t have gone far and he has the common sense to stop somewhere for the night. We can catch up to him, wherever he is.”

Regina almost missed the change in the pirate’s voice. It was less cocky than usual, more prayerful and dare she say, apologetic. Regina certainly wasn’t Hook’s biggest fan but she was still grateful for everything he had done to help them in the past and even today. He had clearly been out in the Storybrooke rain for some time so he must have been searching for Henry just as diligently as David was. And he found the portal door at the mansion that Henry had probably used, so what did he have to be apologetic about? If anything, his apology seemed more like a concerted effort at fixing something. 

Uneasiness settled in the back of Regina’s mind. Whatever that something was he was trying to fix, Regina would bet anything it had to do with Henry. Maybe it even had to do with why Henry ran through the portal in the first place. 

If Emma noticed the change in her boyfriend’s tone she didn’t acknowledge it or even look at him as he spoke. Her eyes were now glued to the foreboding cloud in the valley, green orbs hard and determined. 

“My light, my lead Regina,” The blonde said, voice steely and leaving no room for question. 

“Fine.” If the Savior wanted to lead during the night then that was fine with Regina. She wasn’t going argue. She was too emotionally and magically drained to put up much of a fight anyway. 

Emma took a steadying breath and held one hand in front of her, brow furrowed in concentration for several moments, before a halo of light filled the area around her in the form of a handheld fireball. 

The relief on Emma’s face was almost comical to Regina. Why was the Savior always so surprised whenever she used magic for anything outside of a fight? Yes, magic stemmed from emotions, and it was always easier to draw from them during the heat of battle, but Emma had come a long way from accidentally blowing out walls or overheating a baby bottle. 

Emma strode forward to move down the hill and toward the cloud, fireball in hand and Hook following closely on her heels like a lovesick puppy. Regina walked with them but kept several steps behind. Their boots squelched with every step and Regina couldn’t help the quiet scoff that escaped her at the ridiculousness of the sound. Knowing their rotten luck, they were walking straight into a great big magical disaster that Henry would somehow be at the center of, and they were going to get there by squishing along a muddy forest in an oddly anticlimactic, entirely laughable fashion. 

She had faced far more frightening and dangerous things than an echoing squelch to achieve her goals, and as long as Henry was ok and she could get him back to Storybrooke safe and sound, Regina would do whatever it took to find him. She might have to survive camping with captain guy-liner and the Savior to do it, but she would find her son. 

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

“So does this make me your squire?”

Mulan looked at Henry curiously as they walked through the downtrodden village, but didn’t answer him. Night had just about fallen as far as she could tell (Truthfully it was so dark earlier that Mulan had a hard time knowing just what time of day it was at all. The clouds seemed thicker than usual of late.) and the pair still needed to drop off the stolen items from the trolls before finding somewhere to sleep. While Mulan would have been thrilled to have a soft bed, she knew they would more than likely be shown to a haystack in a barn or stable. A town as poor and down on its luck as this one rarely had enough beds to sleep its own residents, let alone travelers. There wasn’t even an inn to speak of, which made Mulan all the more certain that they rarely got any travelers at all that needed putting up for the night. It reminded her of home briefly and she forced the memories aside before they could plague her the way they always did. 

“What about your apprentice? It’d be so cool to have an apprentice. Someone you could pass things on to and teach. Like in Fantasia! And Star Wars! You could be my Sorcerer or my Obi-Wan Kenobi!” Obi-who? He must have made those things up. There was no way such things could exist outside the realm of an individual’s imagination. 

How could this be the same young man who, only hours earlier appeared ready to faint at the sight of the troll’s deceased bodies? Were all of his questions and nonsensical ramblings a coping mechanism? Mulan didn’t recall Emma Swan or Baelfire shying away from the dead in her time with either of them, but their life experiences had likely forced them to a certain level of tolerance around the deceased. It was certainly something she had been forced to learn early on. 

Henry, for all his enthusiasm and zeal about adventure, seemed far too green in his endeavors. She still wasn’t sure what his so-called quest was for. He claimed it was to prove his worthiness and maturity to his family, but Mulan was starting to think perhaps he wanted to prove it to himself more, even if he didn’t realize it yet. He was clearly a well-learned young man who had potential and ambition, but to do what exactly, Mulan didn’t know. 

“This is your first time in this realm, yes? And you don’t have a map or way of knowing where you are in the forest?” She asked, curious about his answer. A few townspeople wandered around them as they walked along the dirt road, staring oddly at Henry’s strange clothes and how clean he looked. Mulan couldn’t blame them for staring, since she was just as curious about some of his garments, even having seen his parent’s clothes. His pants were an odd textured shade of blue and his shoes, though covered in mud from their walk, were bright and colorful. And with his red scarf, clean dark coat, and chin held high, Mulan thought he would have fit in fairly easily with some of the nobility she had met in her travels. 

It made him look all the more green and ill fit for the forest. 

“I told you I have a compass,” He offered defensively, as though preparing himself for her dismissal. 

Mulan didn’t want to dismiss him. She had been serious when she said it was dangerous to be alone in the forest, and she certainly didn’t want Henry wandering around there in all his inexperience and naivety. That was what she told herself anyway. Part of her admitted that maybe she had been on her own for a tad too long and just wanted some company, even if she had to take the time to teach him to survive in the forest. There was just one thing she wanted to be certain of first. 

“You mentioned that you picked west at random to travel, and that you were happy to be moving further west. You admit you had no way of knowing what lay ahead, so why did you choose that direction?” She was testing him. It was a little mean of her but if he was going to tag along she needed at least some shred of evidence that he wouldn’t impulsively fly off the handle at the first chance, and that he could focus and be logical both when it counted and when it didn’t necessarily matter. Good instincts were one thing, but having the patience to find the right signs and clues to make an informed decision was another thing entirely. 

Henry shrugged. “I didn’t know what was in any other direction either. What did I have to lose?” It wasn’t the answer she had hoped for, but it struck a chord in her nonetheless, bringing with it an unbidden memory.

(“I’ll go west. I’ve nothing to lose now.”) 

She barely recognized her own voice in her memories anymore. Had it been so long since she’d thought of them? She never liked reliving those moments, even in the privacy of her mind where she had full control over them, so to have someone bring it up so unexpectedly for her…

“Um, Mulan?” She came to and saw Henry staring at her oddly. 

She gave him a smile. Maybe this was what she needed. Some fate had brought them together and she wouldn’t turn from it. “I don’t know who this Obi-wan is, but perhaps there is no name yet, for what it is we are doing.”

Henry’s lips curled unhappily. “So I’m not a squire then?”

“No Henry, you’re not a squire.” But you could be a friend, she thought. “We need to bring these to whoever is in charge. Then we can find a place to sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a little peek into Mulan’s thoughts and now we’ve got our other key players in the Enchanted Forest. 
> 
> In case it wasn’t clear, the portal spat Regina, Killian, and Emma out somewhere different from where it let Henry out. 
> 
> Remember, reviews make the muse happy!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real quick, let’s check in with Killian, and then forward! Because who wants some action? Henry does! That’s who! This one got a little long on me. I seem to be making these chapters longer bit by bit. Also, you all have no idea how absolutely excited I am about some of these Author hints we’ve been getting in the recent episodes. Seriously, it’s a little scary. 
> 
> Warnings: More fantasy style violence and gore at the end of the chapter. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Anything you recognize isn’t mine.

The bright light of Emma’s magic glowed in her hand, lighting the dark forest around them as she walked ahead of the three, but to Killian its warmth was both mocking and deservedly out of his reach. It reminded him of the stars he used to navigate the Jolly Roger by at sea, an unattainable beacon to chase forever. The only difference was this light was one he had held in his hands. He had felt the warmth of Emma’s magic, of her love, and now he feared he was going to lose it. 

He should never have let Henry go running off at all, should have gone after him and held the lad back so they could talk it through. But no, he had to hold David back because Killian thought he knew what Henry was going through and thought the lad needed time to himself. 

But bloody hell, he did know what was racing through Henry’s mind when that wooden sword had shattered on the ground. He understood exactly where Henry’s anger was rooted and what could have happened or been said should he have stayed with them in such a riled state. Killian had been younger than Henry when he accused Liam of- 

He shook his head violently and instantly regretted it when a dull ache formed in his skull. He wasn’t going to think on the past now. There was no time to dwell on ancient history when Henry was somewhere alone in the Enchanted Forest. 

Killian’s foot caught briefly on a hidden root, and he stumbled a little before righting himself. He half expected one of Henry’s mothers to roll their eyes at his lack of coordination, but neither turned their heads or even seemed to acknowledge that the slip had occurred at all. He didn’t blame them. No one had so much as spoken since they started walking from the hilltop where the mysterious portal door had spat them out several hours before. They were all too lost in thought to voice anything aloud, and had yet to stop for more than a few moments to check that they were indeed heading toward the fog they had first spotted. 

He felt a yawn coming on and did his best to force it back, along with a mental cloudiness that was quickly dulling his senses. It wouldn’t do any good to be tired yet, even if they had all been awake for a literal day. He knew he was right when he said that Henry would find shelter for the night, and that every step they took in the darkness was a step closer to finding Henry without the lad inadvertently walking away from them.

Dawn would rise in a few hours and he had every intention of finding some tangible clue as to Henry’s whereabouts so the search could continue in the light of day. Hopefully there would be a footprint or some fallen item from his bag. Gods knew the lad carried the thing everywhere he went without fail, surely something had dropped from it? Even better would be finding someone who had seen Henry. Assuming the lad hadn’t changed clothes to try and blend in it would be easy for any local to recall the strangeness of his garments. 

It took Killian a moment to notice he was so lost in thought he had actually fallen a short ways behind Emma and Regina. He jogged to catch up, the cloudiness from before coming over him in an unsettling wave. Killian shook most of feeling aside, but some of it lingered, threatening his senses with deception should he lose focus. But a little light-headedness wasn’t going to stop him from fixing his mistake and helping Swan and Regina find Henry. He just had to push the sensations aside and concentrate on the task at hand, and maybe on the placement of his feet as well. Killian very much doubted they would be stopping to rest somewhere anytime soon. 

 

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

 

They spent the night in a barn. 

Henry had no illusions about what sleeping in the Enchanted Forest would probably be like, and had dreamed up scenarios of camping under the stars and learning the realm’s constellations. So when they arrived in town the night before his hopes were raised high that they might have a couple of beds instead of being forced to sleep in the mud. Trekking through the forest with all of the recovered weapons and gold was more exhausting than Henry would ever let on, and a mattress stuffed with goose feathers sounded beyond heavenly right then. 

Unfortunately, the elderly man who very eagerly accepted the gold and other stolen items from Mulan had been nothing but apologetic when he was unable to offer them anything else but the hay in his barn. For her part, Mulan looked completely unfazed by the news and thanked the man graciously for his hospitality, so Henry did the same, even if his face didn’t entirely match his verbal gratitude. 

The empty barn was dry and mud-free but also bitterly cold, and the hay they slept on was itchy even through his thick pea coat. He tossed and turned trying to get comfortable enough to sleep but only succeeded in burrowing inside the straw and covering himself more thoroughly with needles. Henry was sure he would be picking bits of hay from his clothes and hair forever after. 

The few times he did manage to fall asleep, he sneezed himself awake and woke Mulan, even though Henry wasn’t entirely sure she slept at all. She sat against the hay with her head forward and one hand clenched around the hilt of her sword in a way that must have been exhausting. Every time Henry opened his eyes during the night he saw her twitch, her body tense and her grip tightening further on the weapon, as if she was responding to a potential threat. It was only when she realized there was no real danger that she relaxed and her shoulders lowered by a hair, but her grip on her sword never loosened. 

She must have been light sleeper for a reason, Henry thought. It made him wonder yet again just how long Mulan had been on her own that she needed to be so alert all the time. 

It had to be one of the longest nights of Henry’s life, made longer by the still dense clouds holding the light of the rising sun hostage in the morning, and keeping the village and the surrounding forest trapped in darkness. It was so dark that when Mulan shook Henry awake at what she insisted was well past sunrise, he could only stare at her in disbelief. But his watch read 7:42am, so she must have been right. Maybe the Enchanted Forest and Storybrooke were in the same time zone, or at least something close to it. 

“Do roosters not crow at sunrise here? Cause I was kinda looking forward to an old timey wake up call,” Henry asked, only half-serious. He refused to let his exhaustion show, and if being a little more sarcastic and talkative than usual got him through the day, then that’s what he would do. If that didn’t work, he could distract himself by picking out the infinite hay needles from his clothes and hair.

Mulan smiled good-naturedly at him. “A rooster cannot crow if it is not present to do so. Come, we’ll find some food then we should be going.”

“Ok, that first bit sounded way more wisdom-y than you probably meant, and it was awesome,” Henry noted, impressed. He grabbed his backpack, which was equally covered in needles, and followed Mulan out of the barn into the nearly empty street. 

The dankness of the looming day made it hard to keep up his cheerful façade for too long. Without the sun’s direct heat and light, the morning air held an unusual, almost unnatural, chill to it, that was miraculously absent from the faces of the few townspeople who were brave enough to leave the warmth of their homes. A layer of fog rolled through the town in unsettling waves that sent shivers up Henry’s spine and he found himself wrapping his coat a little tighter around him to fend off the strange cold. He looked skyward, and saw the same thick blanket of grey as yesterday holding the sunlight prisoner, and looking nearly ready to shower the town in more rain. Henry briefly wondered just how often it really rained in the Enchanted Forest, because it definitely looked like it was more often than the impression he’d been given by his grandparent’s stories or those in his storybook. 

“I don’t think I like those clouds,” He mused aloud, “There’s just something weird about them. And the fog, it’s kinda creepy.”

“Perhaps they just feel different to you because they’re clouds of another realm,” Mulan suggested. Her voice sounded absent, as if she didn’t entirely believe what she was saying, and her eyes began scanning the street quickly in search of something.

Henry decided to drop it for now. He had nothing but a gut feeling to go on, and Mulan was probably right anyway. He was just jumpy because he was somewhere so drastically new. “Ok, so I know I said it was sage-y and whatever, but what did you mean about the roosters? Does it have to do with why there are so few people in town?”

Mulan was still searching the town in passing glances left and right, probably for somewhere to eat. “The town is… not well off.” She kept her voice low as they walked passed several locals who looked at them curiously. 

“So they’re dirt poor and don’t have a lot of livestock.” Henry didn’t bother to keep his voice quiet.

She threw him a scathing look that would have made Regina proud, and he felt just a little sheepish, but not enough to stop. 

“Is that why you helped them with the trolls? Since the villagers couldn’t do much themselves? I mean nobody here looks ready to fight off a troll attack.”

He saw Mulan take a deep calming breath and he got the vague impression she was counting to ten to stop herself from hitting him. “It’s rude to speak ill of people or their lot in life. I would have thought you’re mother taught you better manners than that.”

“She did! Regina practically drilled them into my head,” He responded. Did Mulan really think he’d grown up in Regina’s house without learning proper table etiquette and how to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’? 

Mulan turned to Henry abruptly, bewilderment etched on her face. “Regina, the Evil Queen? I thought your mother was Emma Swan?”

Oh.

It was then that Henry realized Regina raising him wasn’t exactly common knowledge in the Enchanted Forest. He also realized that not everyone had the same history and memories of Regina as him, and that most of the world, especially the residents of the Enchanted Forest, still thought of her as the Evil Queen who had terrorized them for years and enacted a dark curse that ripped them from their home world. They hadn’t seen her trying to change over the years like he had. Hadn’t seen her trying to save him in Neverland, or defend Storybrooke from Zelena, or how kind she’d been with Robin Hood and Roland. They didn’t see that she was capable of so much love. 

It was also possible they didn’t want to see those changes. Sometimes it was easier to think of a person in only one way instead of seeing how time could change them. He remembered how people in Storybrooke who had seen Regina making amends still walked on eggshells around her and looked at her with undisguised wariness. 

Henry had also seen how the entire town, especially his own family, was unwilling to see him as anything but a child even though he was growing up right in front of them. It was why he’d come to the Enchanted Forest in the first place, to prove he wasn’t a child. Regina was very slowly winning people over back in Storybrooke, and she’d been succeeding with Emma and his grandparents, among at least a few other people, so there was no reason to think he couldn’t change all their minds about his actual age if it was working for her. 

But until he knew where Mulan stood in her opinion of Regina, it was probably a good idea not to go into too much detail with the warrior about his adoptive mother. He still needed the woman to like him enough to let him travel with her. 

“It’s complicated,” He muttered, not sure if he was hoping for Mulan to ask him if Regina had changed from her villainous ways or to drop the subject entirely. 

Mulan gave Henry a curious look that told him she knew there was more he wasn’t saying. But she didn’t push him for answers, just moved on to reply to his earlier question about the lack of capable fighters in the village. 

“A friend I once traveled with impressed on me the importance of helping those who cannot help themselves. Not every town is so lucky as to have soldiers or warriors of their own. So when I heard the rumors about this valley and the people suffering within it, I came.”

Henry was about to question her on those rumors and comment on how very Robin Hood-like she sounded when a gruff voice called out to the pair from behind. 

“In the spirit of helping those who help others, what sort of host would I be letting guests go hungry? Especially when they’ve helped us so?” It was the old man from the night before who had given them use of the barn. He limped toward them on knobby legs with a long stick meant to act as a cane. His white hair was too thin to warm his head just as his raggedy clothes were too thin to warm the rest of him. And even though he was deathly pale, his tired eyes sparkled with a carefree light that had Henry feeling guilty for his ungratefulness to the man the night before. The guilt intensified when he realized he couldn’t even remember the man’s name. 

“Went to the barn to bring you food before you left, but you’d gone. Good thing my wife noticed you on her way across town,” The man explained, eyes crinkling with his smile. 

Mulan was quick to object, a little more adamantly than was probably needed. “There’s no need, really,” She tried. “We should be going anyway.”

The old man shook his head at her refusal, his voice gravelly with age and leaving no room for argument. “Nonsense. I insist. Join me in my home for a while. Not often we get travelers.” He turned and slowly started walking back toward the house by the barn that Mulan and Henry had left only a short time before. Henry was happy to follow the old man, but Mulan held him back, gloved hand insistent on his shoulder. 

“Henry, about the fog being ‘creepy’? You may be onto something,” She whispered to him, her voice low enough to not be caught by wayward ears. “We should leave.”

And just like that, the downtrodden village didn’t seem so quaint anymore. Henry let his eyes wander the town around them, and he noticed the townspeople all seemed just a bit too pale and thin. Their clothes were too ragged, their smiles miraculously bright and forced, and there was something ominous in the mist flowing between the buildings that Henry couldn’t name. But creepy as it all was and as much as he didn’t like it, Henry couldn’t find it in him to be afraid of the fog or the weirdly cheery old man and townspeople either. If anything, it just made him more curious.

“Well, do you know what it is? The fog I mean. Is it magic?”

Mulan’s eyes hardened. “No, I don’t know what it is, and I don’t need to find out. We have a troll bridge to get to,” She reasoned, trying to persuade Henry with the adventure he had asked for.

But Henry wanted to know about the fog, not to mention the man had promised them food and Henry wasn’t about to deny his stomach something to eat. “We need to stay. Maybe the old man knows something about the fog, or about why the trolls were all the way out here.” 

Mulan’s eyes continued to hold his in steely determination, but Henry held her stare. Why was she so desperate to leave, he wondered? Was the fog really that dangerous? If it was so deadly, something would have happened to them by now, or at least to the villagers, and they were perfectly fine. 

Her eyes flickered from Henry’s to the retreating old man, who had only just realized they weren’t following him and turned to wait for them, his eyes patient but expectant. Mulan gave a sigh of defeat, “Fine, we’ll see if Friedrich,” She emphasized the man’s name sharply off her tongue, “Knows anything. But we can’t stick around for long. We’ll see what he knows then leave.”

Henry grinned widely and didn’t give her a chance to change her mind. He turned on his heel, running forward to where the old man, Friedrich, was waiting down the street, and stood with him until Mulan joined them moments later. 

The walk down the street made Henry feel like he was toeing the line between a frigid mountain and a blissful meadow. On Henry’s left, Mulan was icy and tense, her darting eyes less inquisitive and more at the ready; as if she were waiting for something to just jump out and attack her. So maybe she hadn’t been looking for food earlier, she’d been on guard for something to strike out of the fog, whatever that something was. On his right, Friedrich made distracted small talk with himself about the local gossip, his voice gravely and unending in a way that made it impossible to get a word in edgewise as he moved fluidly between topics. 

“Helga and her boys came back the other day from the next town over,” He mentioned, “But would you believe it, they forgot to bring back the fabric they bought there in the first place!” Before Henry could comment on how unlucky that must’ve been, to make such a long journey for nothing, Friedrich had moved on to talking about a nearby town whose populous had all but vanished, and then to the young lovers who thought their midnight trysts were somehow secret and not the talk of the town. 

(Henry thought he had a pretty good idea what went on during the sort of ‘trysts’ Friedrich was talking about, but he’d be the first to admit it was still something of a blank spot for him. He didn’t dare ask Emma or Regina for answers and they hadn’t tried to give him any sort birds and bees talk yet. Did they really think he was such a kid he didn’t need to know about sex? Everything he thought he knew on the subject he’d learned in health class in school, but just knowing the mechanics of how babies came to be still seemed weird and disgusting. The idea of kissing though, wasn’t entirely gross…) 

It got to the point where Henry was confident he could retell the gossip on the entire town backwards and forwards. He was also confident that Friedrich had left out a few details about something going on in town that was a little more important than a few missing tools or midnight escapades. 

Henry didn’t quite have his mom’s gift for spotting a liar a mile away but he’d been around Storybrooke’s citizens long enough to know when people were keeping secrets. It was in the way they skirted a little too easily through certain details, or tried to steer attention away from whatever they were trying to hide. In Friedrich’s case, it was the way he burned through every topic too quickly without stopping to even look at Henry’s reaction to the freak memory loss of an entire family, as if he were trying to distract himself from something that was eating at him. 

Once Friedrich had seemingly finished talking gossip he started distractedly praising Mulan’s efforts from the day before. “You are a skilled warrior and we owe your courage much,” He said, not looking at Mulan at all. His word choices were somehow neutral and his shifting eyes raised more red flags in Henry’s mind. Friedrich had been so confident when he’d first approached them about having breakfast, what happened to that? “The way you chased those thieving men out of town was something we don’t see very often out here.”

“What do you mean men?” Mulan walked ahead several steps and planted herself in front of Friedrich like an immovable mountain, her eyes blazing in challenge and shoulders even more drawn and tense than Henry thought possible. “I chased five trolls out of this town yesterday and killed them in the forest. There were no men.” 

The bite in her voice was enough to get Friedrich to stop his never-ending stream of empty words, but he still wasn’t looking at her; in fact, he looked very interested in everything else and avoided her at all costs. And he only spoke again after several long moments. “About that… Thought we would have more time before the last one but this morning… Well, might need your help again…”

He trailed off and something cold and heavy settled in Henry’s gut. Mulan must have shared his growing dread because her eyes widened briefly before narrowing into accusing slits. 

“Friedrich, I think we need to have a talk.” Mulan’s commanding voice was icy and the image of that frozen mountain, cold, foreboding, and impossible to ignore, was back in Henry’s mind. 

Friedrich had the decency to finally raise his eyes to Mulan but didn’t get a chance to answer her when a loud crash and echoing snarl pulled all their attention to a building around the corner from where they had just been. 

“The hell was that?!” Henry cried, jumping at the sound. 

Mulan was already on the move, drawing her sword in one smooth motion. “Stay here!” She called out, racing toward the sound without a backward glance. 

Now that he’d been told not to get involved, it was all the motivation Henry needed to go after her. If there was another fight, he wanted in. Besides, as badass as Mulan was, even she could probably use a hand sometimes. 

Henry ran toward the crashing sound after Mulan, turned the corner, and was met with the most hideous troll-like creature he had ever seen, even compared to the five from the day before. It seemed bigger than the largest troll from yesterday, and sounded ten times angrier. The creature snarled and yelled, mindlessly smashing into homes, and knocking aside anyone in the way like they were little more than rag dolls. 

His feet were frozen in place as he watched the troll about to squash a young boy who had fallen to the ground in his haste to get away, but there was Mulan throwing herself in the thick of it to shield the young boy from harm. Her blade cut a small way through the troll’s arm before forcing the limb to the side, the wound bleeding profusely and spattering the ground in streaks of dark red as the troll cried out in pain. 

Henry watched the boy scramble into one of the nearby buildings, far away from the reach of the fight and into the waiting arms of a woman that had to be the boy’s mother. Something flickered in Henry’s chest and he forced it aside, turning back to Mulan’s skirmish to find a way to help the warrior. 

Throwing the troll’s arm aside had put the creature off balance and Mulan had taken the opportunity to kick it down to the ground. But this troll was faster than the group from yesterday, and rolled out of the way before Mulan could bring her sword down on it. The troll was fast enough to not only avoid Mulan’s sword strikes, but to stand back up again and launch a counter attack. It smashed its meaty fists into the ground trying to pound Mulan to bits, leaving imprints of its hands behind in the mud and dirt. 

Soon the creature had Mulan on the run, and she dipped and slid and danced around the incoming rain of fists. The ground shook from the troll’s efforts and Henry somehow knew Mulan wouldn’t be able to hold off the troll for much longer. She was still exhausted from the fight yesterday, and he knew for damn sure she hadn’t really slept the night before. 

Damn it all, he needed a weapon! He needed something to help Mulan fight this thing! 

“Yah!” Henry heard Mulan give a great cry and watched her try and go on the offensive, twisting her body to gracefully avoid another fist and simultaneously swinging her blade in a sweeping arc into the troll’s side. But she wasn’t quite fast enough and only managed to graze the creature, barely breaking the skin of its torso before it’s heavy arm slammed into her, throwing her aside and straight through the window of someone’s house. 

“Mulan!” Henry cried out. He started to run toward her in the house but the troll cut in front of him and Henry turned on a dime out of the way of the incoming maelstrom of fists. It was all Henry could do to keep dodging and fleeing the troll’s attacks and he slid carelessly through the mud, feet never quite steady enough to make a decent retreat. 

He had no weapon, no magic, and no clever tricks to fight this thing. He wanted to take the creature down but how the hell was he supposed to do anything?

He rolled as far away from another attack as he could, hoping to put some distance between himself and the troll, and landed right onto something long and hard; Mulan’s sword. She must have dropped it when the troll knocked her aside, Henry realized.

Hope restored, Henry quickly took hold of the sword in both hands, stressed for a moment to remember how Grandpa David had taught him to hold it. It was heavier than he thought it would be, and he struggled for a heartbeat to hold the sword fully upright. 

Henry watched the troll approach him and somewhere in the back of his mind noticed the necklaces swinging around the troll’s neck and how out of place they seemed on the creature. He didn’t have long to dwell on the thought though, when the troll reached him and swung an arm at him sideways, nearly taking Henry out. But he parried the attack, sliding it off the sword’s edge and cutting a long thin line along the creature’s arm. It wasn’t enough to hurt it, and it definitely didn’t do anything to slow it down, but Henry felt the impact all the same, and felt how that brief contact forced him to slide sideways with the troll’s arm and lose his footing in the mud. 

“Stronger stance, Henry,” He remembered Grandpa David saying only yesterday, “Let your legs help.” 

Henry reset his feet, stance wide but strong, just in time to take another hit from the troll’s arm. He let this attack slide off the sword too, and was able to keep his footing a bit better and force the troll off balance a little. Henry remembered the troll being in the same twisted position only moments before against Mulan, and how she had used the opportunity to kick the troll to the ground and gain the upper hand. But when Henry lifted his leg to kick the creature aside just like she did, he didn’t take into account that Mulan was so much stronger than him that her initial parry had knocked the troll aside more than Henry’s had. Henry also didn’t realize that this time the troll was prepared for the attack. 

The creature grabbed Henry’s leg midair, yanking him from the ground and quickly tossing him across the road. The softness of the mud was probably the only reason Henry wasn’t more seriously injured but the landing still hurt like hell and his head throbbed from the impact. 

He could see perfectly clearly, but everything in his head felt foggy after the hit and his body refused to move. The troll strode toward him with purpose, eyes locked on his and footfalls heavy enough to shake the ground underneath Henry’s ear even from a distance. Every step was a vibration that sent waves of fear rushing through him and he realized in horror that it wasn’t any injury that paralyzed him; it was fear that kept him from rising and defending himself, from fleeing the troll’s imminent attack. 

This might be it, he thought shakily. He might really be done for. He’d gone running off to the Enchanted Forest on some stupid quest and he was about to be pounded into nothingness for his idiocy. His family wouldn’t even know where he’d gone or what had happened to him. That realization stung worst of all. 

Henry was still trapped in his fears when the troll finally reached him. It raised one meaty fist high overhead, clearly meaning to bring it down hard on Henry. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the creature. No matter how terrified he was of what was about to happen, something stubborn in him needed to see these last moments, needed to see the fists arcing down onto him. 

The troll gave out a great cry of effort and then suddenly one of indescribable pain. Henry tore his eyes away from the troll’s fists to see a dagger being driven into the creature’s side. It was Mulan; she was still standing, still fighting. There was a trail of blood dripping from her head and her armor was twisted around her body from being thrown, but her movements didn’t let on to any other injuries she might have suffered. She just kept digging the short blade into the creature’s torso and twisted it before yanking it out rapidly, blood spraying out from what had to be several of the creature’s internal organs. 

Her movement flipped something back on in Henry. If she could fight after taking a hit like that, then so could he. Henry was suddenly hyper-aware of everything around him, even if he had no control over his body. He was aware of the slippery, cold mud underneath him, the feel of something warm, wet, and metallic spraying over him, and the weight of Mulan’s sword still clenched in his hands. 

His body moved on it’s own as his legs struggled to lift him against the give of the mud. He felt the heavy weight of the sword in his hands and realized his arms were moving in an upward arc to bring the blade to its target in front of him. Distantly, he noted the ringing in his ears was his own cry of effort, but the sound was muted to him and the only sound he could register in that final moment was the crunch and squelch of the sword slicing straight up into the troll’s throat, through it’s jaw, and into it’s head. Henry wasn’t tall enough or strong enough to push the blade all the way through the thick bone of the skull, and he needed all the adrenaline rushing through him to slice the sword through any of the resistance of the creature’s flesh. 

He watched in horror as the troll sputtered helplessly against the impalement, it’s eye rolling in it’s head as it struggled to breath, just like the troll that Mulan had impaled the day before. Every movement the troll gave in it’s dying moments caused another jerk against the sword still trapped in Henry’s hands. The grotesque connection between Henry and the troll brought the creature’s pain to the forefront of Henry’s awareness and he grew sick at the thought. 

Reality starting to set in, Henry tumbled several steps backwards, taking the sword and the troll’s necklace with him into the mud. The troll swayed for a long moment before falling to it’s side, the ground quaking under its weight. 

Henry’s eyes were glued to the air where he had just impaled the troll on a sword and killed it. Oh God, he had killed it. He did it. He was physically responsible for the death of this creature. It was different than watching the trolls fall to Mulan yesterday or watching Greg and Tamara die in front of him on the beach in Neverland. This was ultimately his doing. Heaviness came over him and tightened in his chest, matching the tightness with which he was still clutching Mulan’s sword. 

Henry couldn’t find it in him to loosen his grip on the weapon at all. The sword anchored him, and if he let up he would surely float away and lose himself to some madness. 

“Henry? Henry?!” He finally turned to Mulan who was wiping off and re-sheathing her dagger. His eyes were still wide with what he’d just done. “Are you alright?”

Henry tried in vain to find the words, or even his voice, but the sounds coming from his throat were unrecognizable to him.

Mulan came to kneel in front of him, her hands moving to his shoulders and he found he was grateful for the contact. “Henry, are you alright?”

He stared at her, quiet for what felt like forever, before nodding slowly, not trusting his voice. Mulan’s shoulders finally dropped and she sighed in what Henry hoped was relief even if he couldn’t quite find that same calm himself yet. She moved her gloved hands on top of his, both pairs covering the sword hilt, and rubbed them against his skin soothingly. 

“It’s ok now, Henry. You’re ok. You can let go now.” Her voice was soft and he was reminded of his early childhood nightmares when Regina would comfort him in the night, telling him everything would be all right and that he was safe. 

When his vice grip did finally loosen his hands were shaking so violently he forced them under his armpits to try and stop the trembling. Mulan slowly took her sword, wiped it and re-sheathed it. As she stood up, she took hold of the ancient looking pendant necklaces the troll had been wearing from where they had fallen in the mud. 

“Friedrich!” Mulan yelled as she stood, necklaces held in front of her in accusation and anger dripping from every fiber of her. “We’re having that talk now!”


	6. Chapter 6

“Friedrich!” Mulan yelled as she stood up, necklaces held in front of her in accusation and anger dripping from every fiber of her. “We’re having that talk now!”

Several feet away from her, the troll’s corpse lay forgotten in the mud, blood still pouring from the wounds she and Henry had inflicted. She would have to move the body out of town to bury it, she noted vaguely. Troll corpses tended to attract all manner of disease-ridden insects and animals. 

Mulan couldn’t decide if it was the leftover rush from the fight buzzing through her veins or anger toward the man’s obvious deception, but whatever it was had her itching to draw her sword again and she didn’t fight the urge to at least clench the hilt in her fist. It was a habit of hers after every fight, gripping her father’s sword like a totem, as if holding it tighter would somehow bring his spirit and strength here to calm her. The contact usually helped and she felt her harsh breathing soften and the maddening cadence of her heartbeat slow. But she knew her eyes were still narrowed in fury and the ache in her jaw told her she was clenching her teeth too. 

There was still a line of blood dripping down her cheek from the shallow cut on her forehead and Mulan knew she looked every bit the battle-torn and blood-drenched warrior. She made no move to wipe the blood aside though. Let them see her like this, let them see that she meant business and wanted answers now. 

Friedrich slowly crept from his hiding place around the corner and took unsteady steps toward her. He radiated guilt with every hesitant, fearful step and it set Mulan’s teeth on edge. Friedrich had clearly known about this latest troll’s presence and said nothing. Henry had needlessly been put in danger because of this man’s guilt, and if the necklaces the troll had been wearing were anything to go by, there was more to this attack than a simple desire for loot. 

She turned to Henry one more time and her heart tightened. He was still sitting on the ground and had trapped his hands under his armpits to stop them trembling. The poor kid probably didn’t realize his whole body was shaking. She knew that had to be his first kill, and that he would need time to work through every horrid thing that came with the aftermath of a kill, which would normally have been fine with her. She wanted to let him process it all at his own pace, wanted to be there for him while he got his thoughts in order. Gods knew she had needed time with her thoughts after her first battle. 

But time for his thoughts was a luxury she couldn’t really afford him at the moment. Mulan needed to question Friedrich and she refused to leave Henry alone after this fight. He had to stay with her, if only so she could remain a solid presence with him, and that first and foremost meant standing up out of the mud. 

She held out a hand to him and waited several moments as he looked between her and her hand. Finally he loosened one hand from its confinement and took hold of hers, letting her pull him to his feet. Mulan saw his legs wobble briefly but there was a determined glint in his eyes that seemed at war with his body, as if he were forcing himself through whatever thoughts were plaguing him. 

It worried her that Henry felt he had to force his way through this, and she made a silent promise to shoulder just a little more of their traveling burdens while he recovered.

Friedrich was still moving slowly toward them, limping along the muddy road with his cane. Townspeople had started peeking out of their windows and doors, curious to see the result of the fight, but no others approached her. 

When Henry started shakily placing one foot in front of the other to meet Friedrich in the middle, Mulan followed closely behind him, realizing his intentions. Just like the day before, he was going to throw himself into everything happening around him as a distraction. This time instead of through a flurry of comments and questions it would be by discovering the origins of the trolls in the village and how they were connected to the fog that was blanketing the forest.

“We’ll start with him,” Mulan said, unsure if Henry had found his voice yet and throwing a finger toward the fallen troll. “You said I chased men out of town yesterday, but I distinctly remember killing five trolls. Can I assume the five trolls from yesterday and the one from today were at one point human?”

“Yes…” Friedrich was hesitant to say more but Mulan narrowed her eyes and let her remaining anger flow off of her. 

Friedrich gulped and shifted nervously. “They were unworthy,” He croaked out cryptically.

Next to her, Mulan saw Henry’s face contort in confusion while he commented under his breath, “Unworthy? What is this, Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade?” She suspected this ‘Indiana Jones’ was something else from his realm. She would add it to her growing list of things to clarify with him. 

“No, no, unworthy is not enough,” Friedrich muttered. “Perhaps greedy? Thieving? The Dark One’s magic is as puzzling as his mind. His whims are absolute and I could not say how his mind or magic work. Those men should never have made it as far as they did. It was their thieving ways and the Dark One’s magic that did this to them.”

The mention of the Dark One snapped Henry to attention. “What does Gold- Rumplestiltskin have to do with all this?” 

Mulan didn’t miss the way Friedrich shivered at the mention of the Dark One’s true name. Even knowing he wouldn’t be returning from Henry’s realm again after the second dark curse didn’t lessen people’s fear of him. But the more solid connection to the Dark One did put everything into place, and only made her fears of the recent rumors she had heard about the valley grow. 

“The fog, young man, it is his. It followed the men when they took what wasn’t theirs to take,” Friedrich was being vague and Mulan wondered if there was some specific reason for it but thought it more likely that it was just how everyone reacted when Rumplestiltskin and magic were mentioned. 

“So the fog turned these guys into trolls ‘cause they had Rumple’s stuff? They didn’t come from any troll bridge?” Henry looked at Mulan helplessly for answers she couldn’t give, but immediately his face slid into a look of horror. “Wait, are we gonna turn into trolls now too ‘cause we’re handling the necklaces?”

Mulan rolled her eyes at him, but it didn’t stop the brief flicker of uncertainty that flashed through her. Better to reassure him in this at least, even if she couldn’t say with any authority. “Henry, have I sprouted slimy skin, burst out of my armor, and started attacking you?” 

“Well, no…”

“Then probably not. It’s not as though we personally took these necklaces from him. I certainly bear him no more ill will than anyone else.”

Henry’s face twisted oddly at that. “Somehow that’s not super encouraging.”

Mulan ignored his last comment and turned back to Friedrich. “When did the men turn into trolls? Did you actually see the change?”

“Well, yes and no. All were unworthy but some of the men seem to have been more unworthy than others.” Mulan inwardly groaned. Generalities and misconceptions weren’t going to get them answers, and Henry apparently agreed with her. 

“That’s bullshit. This isn’t about whose allowed to drink from the Holy Grail without shriveling up, Friedrich,” Henry snapped at the man, patience slipping away. “Just say what you saw.”

That spurred Friedrich frantically onward. “The men changed at different times. Those from yesterday were already partly transformed when they arrived in the village earlier in the week with their loot. They weren’t so far gone that we couldn’t try and reason with them at first, but only one of them could truly speak with us,” Friedrich turned to look at the troll still lying in the street and shuddered. 

“I know trolls aren’t the most talkative creatures but they are still capable of speech,” Mulan insisted, confused.

Friedrich shook his head vehemently. “Not these trolls- err, men. Not really. Once their humanity was nearly lost they only whimpered and cursed about the people who had left them behind and the visions that plagued them until they stopped speaking at all. Visions of the Dark One’s castle and a scaly voice ordering them to return what they had stolen lest they pay the price.”

Mulan nodded at Friedrich in understanding. “It probably was the fog that turned them, but it couldn’t have had anything to do with ‘worthiness’. The men must have stolen from his castle and when they ignored the images and warnings to return what was taken they were turned into trolls, creatures who would be attacked on sight by anyone. I’ll admit it’s quite a set-up. Maleficent’s castle certainly wasn’t guarded like this.”

“Paying a price and a super elaborate, hands-off, magical security system? That definitely sounds like Gold,” Henry muttered. “It also sounds like there were more of these guys than the ones we’ve run into. Does this mean there are troll-human hybrids running around the forest?”

“It seems likely, if unfortunate.”

“Then all this fog is like a tracking device with a built-in troll-timer? And it follows whatever tracking spell signal got cast on the men when they left the castle?”

“You think the men are what the fog was following? Not the necklaces?” Mulan asked.

“You said it earlier, how we didn’t personally take this stuff. And I think my grandfather has developed a bigger obsession with getting back at people than winning back whatever was taken from him.” Henry’s eyes locked on hers as he spoke, the brown orbs heavy with anger and frustration and a little disappointment.

Mulan wondered what had happened in Henry’s realm to cause him such disillusionment in the man Baelfire and Belle had been so desperate to bring back to life. 

Henry shook the expression off his face, clearly intent on moving the conversation forward. “Hey, Friedrich can we see the- Whoa, when did you get over there?” Neither of them had noticed Friedrich start to slink away fearfully at the revelation that the Dark One was in fact Henry’s grandfather, nor did the man say anything in response to being noticed. To Mulan he looked like a misbehaving child caught in the act, with his eyes a little too wide and his shoulders hunched guiltily. “Look, can you show us the weapons we brought in yesterday?”

“Henry, what is it?” Mulan asked, curious. 

“I think those weapons came from the castle too, and I think we should return them, the gold, and the necklaces.” 

Mulan cursed her lack of observance. She had noticed everything else, why hadn’t she noticed that yesterday? The weapons were battle-worn but they were still of obviously higher quality than anything that could have been produced in such a poor village. And if the swords and spears weren’t local, then the gold definitely wasn’t either. 

She turned narrowed, angry eyes on Friedrich, whose eyes kept darting fearfully between her eyes and the drying blood caking her face. When she spoke her voice was seething and deceptively venomous. “That’s why you were so eager to take them yesterday wasn’t it? A village like this one can’t have much in the way of gold and arms so you saw a chance at betterment and took it. I don’t fault you for trying to bring a little wealth and protection to your village but you deliberately withheld vital information from Henry and me about the Dark One’s involvement, which is as good as lying and put us in greater danger than needed.”

Friedrich trembled but he shook his head at her accusations. “You’ve every right to be angry with me, but after you left for the barn last night I knew I had to give the weapons back to you. I was selfish and therefore unworthy of their power.”

Henry rolled his eyes in frustration. “Not that ‘unworthiness’ thing again,” He complained. 

She was still annoyed but managed to control her tone enough when she spoke again. “The blades came from the Dark One’s castle, yes, but they’re just swords. They certainly didn’t do any magical favors for those men yesterday when they fought me. What would make someone worthy or not of using a sword?”

Friedrich shuffled his feet nervously. “We heard one of the men before he turned. He said these were swords of legend from the knights of Camelot.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

By the time dawn crept its rosy fingers through the forest Emma felt about as lively as a zombie. The three of them had walked in silence through the dark night, tripping over shrubs, mud squelching irritably under their boots, and with no earthly idea of where the hell they were really going except toward the stupidly foreboding cloud of fog. 

She had been too lost in thought to really pay attention to much around her, and she only vaguely noticed that several times during their night trek Regina’s boots had sunk ankle deep into the wet earth, and whenever Killian fell behind he was panting by the time he caught up again. 

Sometime in the early hours of the predawn they had bumped into a clearly seldom-used road overrun with weeds and fallen branches. They each took one look at each other, and one look in each direction. It must have been her earlier insistence that she lead, Emma thought, because that could be the only reason Regina and Killian so wordlessly followed her down the road in the direction of her choice. 

Emma thought she might have chosen the right direction after all because a short time after they turned onto the road the forest around them was peppered with wisps of the fog they had spotted from the top of the hill. The deeper inward they moved, the thicker the fog became, until it blotted out what little light they had from the early morning sun, plunging them and their road into a dismal grey darkness that did nothing to lift their already weary spirits. 

At least with Henry’s kidnapping to Neverland she had a frame of reference. Emma knew exactly where he had been taken, who had taken him there, and who to deal with in order to get her son back. This time, there was nothing, only a painted doorway to the Enchanted Forest and a hunch about Henry’s reaction to some low-hanging gaseous water. 

She was about ready to punch something in anger, if she only had the energy. 

Regina and Killian didn’t look much better than her. The bags under their eyes were dark and their steps heavy with mud and worry. 

She heard the squelch of sliding boots, a male grunt of surprise, and another heavier squelch and thud. Emma turned around to see that Killian had tripped behind her and fallen to one knee. When he took several moments too long to stand back up, Emma finally realized something was wrong and just how desperate their search was in that moment. 

Killian must have noticed something in her expression as she watched him, because his weary blue eyes hardened into something more stubborn and he took several measured steps forward. 

“I’m fine Swan,” He tried to reassure her, voice tired and drained. “Just a little under the weather from that night hike. We should press on.”

Emma shook her head slowly, not trusting herself to move any faster. “No, no Killian, we need rest. How can we find Henry if we can’t even walk straight?” 

Killian didn’t’ say anything, but Regina stopped several steps ahead where she had walked blindly forward and turned back to face them. Emma thought she looked about ready to snap something at them, how they were giving up too soon, that they couldn’t let the trail go cold or else they could lose Henry forever. 

Except there was no trail to follow. They hadn’t even run into a single person who could tell them where they were or if there was a town nearby. And if the state of the road were anything to go by, they probably wouldn’t see anyone soon anyway. 

She saw Regina tighten her lips and shut her eyes in resignation, the older woman silently relenting to her body’s need for rest. 

“Fine,” She said, turning back on her heel and walking slowly away from Emma and Killian, “But if we’re taking the time to rest we’re not doing it in the mud. Assuming it hasn’t been completely destroyed there should be a farmhouse further up this sorry excuse for a road.”

“Hold on, how do you know that? We get dropped in the middle of anywhere, and you just happened to know there’ll be somewhere with a roof up ahead?” Emma questioned.

Regina threw an unimpressed look back at her. “I’ve made it a point over the years to recognize when I’m in Rumplestiltskin’s territory.”

“Now there’s something we can agree on,” Killian commented. “If memory serves Swan, you and I traveled through this forest not far from here, back when we sought out the Dark One in his castle during our dalliance through time.”

Emma turned disbelieving eyes at him, before rolling them. “Of course there would be an evil-looking fog just hanging around near his castle. Where else in the Enchanted Forest would that ever happen?” Sarcasm dripped from her every word but she was too tired to care if she sounded like a whiny child. A thought came to her then and she looked between her two companions with narrowed eyes. “Is that why you didn’t argue when I started walking this way on the road? You knew where we were so you didn’t say anything?”

Regina didn’t reply and was still walking further along the road toward the house she hoped was still standing. Killian scratched his ear in a nervous tic and gave Emma a small smile, hoping to appease her even in her over-tired state. “I can’t speak for her Highness’ judgment, but I’ve noticed your instincts tend to be spot on when you’re being decisive. Shall we?” He gestured ahead of them and started walking, slowly putting one foot heavily in front of the other. 

Emma was quick to fall in step with Killian, matching his pace and staying by his side as they walked behind the Queen on the unused road. Now that she was taking the time to really notice his gait Emma felt a wave of guilt wash through her at the sight and she cursed inwardly for not seeing it sooner. Strong, resilient, survivor-man Killian Jones looked as if he’d lost a fight with himself. His shoulders were hunched, his steps slow and dragging, and he was breathing just a little more harshly than was normal. Emma knew she wasn’t fairing much better after a full night of bushwhacking and trail finding, but she also knew that Killian was putting something on himself mentally that he was now carrying physically. 

It didn’t take a genius to figure out it was guilt related to Henry running. 

“Killian, are you ok?” She asked him, hand on his shoulder and voice lowered enough so Regina wouldn’t hear. If Killian had something he felt so guilty about he was making himself sick then he definitely wouldn’t want it being shared with everyone, if he even wanted to share at all. 

“It’s nothing, love.” His eyes never left the ground, studiously watching his footsteps. 

“Doesn’t look like nothing.” She put a little more pressure on his shoulder, enough to turn him to face her. 

“Apologies love. That spill I took earlier slowed me some. I’ll be right as rain soon enough.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” She tried to catch his gaze but he ducked her eyes, his mouth narrowing anxiously. Emma sighed, rubbing her thumb against his shoulder. “If you don’t want to say anything then you don’t have to, I get it, but please don’t hurt yourself like this.”

Killian shook his head. “No, love, keeping things from you has cost us dearly before, I should tell you-” He bit his lip and Emma stayed quiet while he put his thoughts in order.

“When Henry ran yesterday I held Dave back from going after him right away. It’s my fault the lad had time to find the portal, my fault he’s here and in danger. I thought I was giving Henry time to calm down, but now he’s in harms way. I’m so sorry Emma.” Killian looked so heartbroken as he said it Emma swore she felt her chest constrict at the sight. 

“Killian, no one could have known that Henry would find a portal to the Enchanted Forest just lying around. You had no control over that, it’s not your fault.” 

“But if I hadn’t held Dave back for those minutes-”

“Hey, you said it yourself, it was minutes. Not hours, or days. And you’re the one who found the portal Henry used to get here, so you’re the reason we even know where he is now. David told me what you said then and I know you probably had your own reasons for saying it but I think you’re right, about Henry growing up and us not wanting to see it. I guess I wanted him to need me for a bit longer, cause then I could try and play catch up on all those years I missed with him.”

“Emma…”

Saying it out loud made her fears real, that Henry growing up meant he wouldn’t need her. That she really had missed out on her last chance to see his childhood. 

Emma brought one hand to hold his hook and the other to cradle his cheek. Killian hesitated only a moment, as if he couldn’t believe she was still standing there with him, before he lifted his hand on top of hers, his thumb rubbing against the skin there adoringly. 

“We’ll find him, Killian, all three of us, together. So please don’t do this to yourself when you’re not the one to blame. I need you with me on this.” Emma said it as much for him as for herself. She needed him with her mentally, not drowning in misplaced guilt, because she knew the longer they went without a clue about Henry the more she would doubt and fear and the more she would need Killian to be her rock. To be something solid she could come back to. 

Still holding her hand close to his cheek, he turned his head to place a searing and apologetic kiss on her palm. The heat of his lips and the understanding in his eyes told her he knew what she needed from him. 

“Aye love, together.”

She allowed herself a small smile, one that Killian mimicked, but didn’t reach his tired eyes. Thinking he needed just a little more reassuring, unless maybe she just needed it for herself, she stepped closer and caught his lips in a soft kiss. Emma felt his hand leave hers as she shifted her palm to curve along the back of his neck, angling his head to deepen the kiss and move closer to him.

His hand trailed the length of her arm and down her side to rest on her hip, pulling them minutely closer. She pressed against him lightly, allowing the barest contact between their bodies. Emma was more content to hold his face in her hand, run her fingers through his hair, and feel his lips glide slowly against hers, the movements reassuring rather than needy. Ever since the recent incident with Gold, Emma found herself always needing to touch some part of Killian whenever they were together, be it his hand, hook, or even his jacket sleeve, just as a reminder of his presence. And in quieter moments like these there was something comforting about the simple contact.

“We’re not making a pit stop for you lovebirds! Let’s move!” Regina yelled at them from further up the road. Emma hastily snapped her head toward the sound but didn’t move her hands from where she held Killian. Emma hadn’t realized there was so much distance between them and Regina already. They would have to catch up.

Turning back to Killian she saw the smile on his face spread a little further now, and she tugged on his hook to keep walking. Emma knew Killian would probably feel guilty for a while longer, but she’d said her piece and for now that would have to do. 

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Checking in with the Storybrookers real quick before getting back to the action! 
> 
> Disclaimer: OUAT is totally and entirely not mine. Sadly.

Emma, Killian, and Regina had been somewhere in the Enchanted Forest chasing after Henry for approximately fourteen hours and thirty-two minutes, not that Mary Margaret was counting or anything, not at all. She just needed to focus on something besides the useless book in her hands that was doing nothing to help her find a way to bring her loved ones back home. 

With the number of times they had needed to find portals between the realms they really should have had this sort of thing down by now. 

The previous night had passed in a flurried exchange of phone calls between her and David, who sounded dead on his feet as he told her everything that happened with Henry and how Emma, Regina, and Killian had gone after him through a mysterious doorway to the Enchanted Forest. 

With no magic beans or any other conveniently placed portal doors at their disposal, Mary Margaret and David had sought the aid of the one person they knew could help them bring their family home. 

Belle. 

If anyone could find another portal, or a way of making one, she could. 

After dropping off Neal with Granny Lucas for the night Mary Margaret had joined David and Belle at the library. The three were soon pouring over every book at their disposal, reading and re-reading texts and translations that eventually blurred together into a haze of nonsensical symbols and lines. 

It was enough to give Mary Margaret a migraine, forcing her to retire for a few hours of rest. She insisted on staying in library with them so she could rejoin the effort more quickly, so Belle pulled out several pillows and a blanket for her, building a makeshift bed in the ever-silent biographies section. Mary Margaret didn’t ask why Belle had all the makings of a bed somewhere that wasn’t her house, and accepted the blankets quietly. She awoke sometime in the early morning to David wordlessly trading places with her for some rest of his own, and Belle sleeping on her own pillow pile, head nestled over an Elvish scroll. Mary Margaret was left doing research alone for a couple of hours before Belle and David woke up and redoubled their efforts. By the time dawn had well and truly risen the three had gone through half of the library’s contents to no avail and their collective frustration was starting to show. 

Mary Margaret started twitching her fingers over the yellowed pages in front of her, the nervous tic only serving to stir her up more as she scanned the useless text for the umpteenth time. Books were Belle’s territory, and the auburn-haired woman had an unfathomable patience for scouring texts for the slightest detail. As much as Mary Margaret wanted to emulate the other woman’s show of patience she wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold out. She had been raised to lead by example, which meant being a physical presence in the kingdom everywhere from the battlefield to the farms. So while she knew the books should have been helpful, it just wasn’t what she was used to when it came to heroics and finding a solution. 

David noticed her silent anxiety and moved to sit next to her, reddened hand covering hers to stop the fidgeting digits. 

“They’ll find him, I know they will,” David reassured her quietly. The burns that marred his palms from handling the portal door were still fresh and angry, but the contact as he held her hand was soothing nonetheless. She made a mental note to find more salve for his burned skin. 

“I know, its just frustrating being over here when I want to be over there helping. I feel so useless like this. Everything that could work as a portal won’t, so we don’t even know what we’re looking for.” She was breathless and weary, and David tipped a hand under her chin and held her eyes.

“Well whatever it is, we’ll find it. We can’t give up hope.”

She smiled at him, an unrelated thought coming to mind. “Maybe Regina’s right, hope really is a kind of slogan for us,” She chuckled lightly. “At least we’re here doing something, you know? It’s better than sitting on our thumbs worrying.”

It was David’s turn to crack a smile. “I don’t think our family is physically capable of doing nothing.”

“True. It’d be nice if one of these books actually gave us a clue though. I don’t think I can go through another magic bean botany text, especially when we know there are no beans left.”

“It might also help if we knew where in the Enchanted Forest they all ended up,” Belle chimed in, nose glued to two separate volumes. 

“Why do you say that? They’re in our kingdom. The snow bells on the door are proof of that,” Mary Margaret reasoned. 

Belle shook her head. “Those flowers grow in lots of places in our realm. They’re in your kingdom, yes, but also near the northern castles, and even near Rumple’s-” Belle cut herself off, blinking back everything that threatened to pour out at her husband’s name. “The point is knowing where they landed would help narrow the search of viable portal options. It’d speed things up for us.”

“The flowers are the closest things to a clue we have. They have to mean something,” David insisted, unwilling to give up. 

“He’s right,” Mary Margaret agreed. “And anyway, finding Henry comes first for them over there. This is to help them get home. Once they find Henry and we find a portal for them I can talk with him in the fire room to tell him the plan,” She explained, proud that her voice didn’t shake or betray how exhausted she really was. 

“The fire room?” Belle’s face betrayed her confusion.

“It’s a room only accessible in sleep by people who’ve been put under and woken from a sleeping curse,” David explained, a little uncomfortable. “It’s not exactly pleasant, but it’s how we communicated when Mary Margaret and Emma got sent over the first time.” 

Belle nodded in understanding before returning to the text in her lap. 

A short time later, David noisily shut another large volume and ran his hands over his eyes in a gesture Mary Margaret recognized as one of frustration and vexation. She reached over to rub his shoulder in comfort and he took hold of her hand, shoulders dropping slightly. 

“I feel like I’ve gone through these volumes a thousand times,” He said. “A multi-volume encyclopedia on magical talismans should be helpful, right? There has to be something we’re not seeing.”

“Maybe it’s in the next volume. What number did you just go through, volume ten? Try volume eleven, it might have an answer. Belle, which book are you looking through?”

“Uh, this one covers mermaids and theories about their powers. It’s not part of the talisman encyclopedia.”

David shrugged and shook his head. “There is no eleven anyway. The series only goes for ten volumes.”

“But I looked at volumes thirteen and fourteen earlier…” Mary Margaret replied, pursing her lips in confusion. 

David didn’t seem overly concerned about the missing books. “Maybe we’re all just so tired we missed them or misplaced them. They might be in the back storeroom or something.” 

“Or they might be in the pawn shop. We could head over and take a look,” Mary Margaret offered.

“No.” Belle’s voice cut sharply through the air as defiant and hard as a sword strike, her accent more pronounced in her anger. “Whatever we need, we can find it in here. We shouldn’t have to rely on that place for things we can find elsewhere.”

Mary Margaret wanted to argue, to point out that her family was wandering the Enchanted Forest without an escape plan and the shop may well hold the key to their safe return. But Belle’s face was diamond hard over the pieces of her broken heart, and Mary Margaret decided to keep quiet for now. 

It was the worst kept secret in town that Belle had been the one to banish Gold from Storybrooke, and everyone had tread carefully around the woman since that night, offering support when they could, but more happy to give her the space they thought she needed. Forcing Belle to re-enter that shop so soon where all her memories were tied to Gold would have been cruel, and Mary Margaret didn’t want to see her friend suffer anymore. 

Maybe she and David would sneak over and take a look on their own later. She could only hope they would be able to recognize whatever it was they needed to find among the shop’s varied assortment of goods and that it would bring their family home. 

'=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

“To think all of these magnificent blades were hidden in the Dark One’s castle. I know he makes deals for rarities such as these but this is a shame, a crime even! It’s a wonder I did not recognize them sooner!” Mulan managed to look all at once baffled, offended, and awe-struck as she swooned over the weapons laid out like a feast in front of her. 

If someone had told Henry that Mulan was actually a huge sword geek and history buff he would never have believed it. But seeing was believing, and standing in Friedrich’s run-down home, watching Mulan lovingly caress several of the stolen weapons while she waxed poetic about their histories and previous owners was almost too much for him to handle. 

“This one is Secace. Sir Lancelot used it in many battles but it wasn’t his preferred sword,” She explained excitedly. “And this! This spear is Rhongomiant. King Arthur of Camelot used this to defeat Sir Thomas of Wolford!”

Friedrich quietly excused himself from the room but Henry stood transfixed. It was a side of Mulan Henry had never seen. Gone was the mighty warrior, ready to vanquish her enemies with a single well-aimed strike, and in her place was an excited girl with a clear passion. She may as well have been a kid in a candy store. Her face was one of complete rapture and awe, and Henry had no trouble imagining sunlight pouring from her eyes at her elation.

“You know a lot about these weapons huh?” Henry asked, genuinely impressed.

Mulan jerked her head toward him, as if she had forgotten he was there, and her face grew sheepish. “I was raised on the stories of these blades and others like them. My father used to detail the strategy behind each great battle and fight. He even helped me recreate some of my favorites growing up when we trained.” Her voice was wistful by the end, and her gaze far off and sad.

“Your dad taught you to fight?” 

Mulan nodded, eyes transfixed on the spear she held. “He wasn’t my only teacher, but he was my first. This sword was his,” She explained, hand drifting to the sword she wore at her waist.

Was, she said. He was her first teacher, and she was using his sword instead of him…

Oh. 

“It’s a strong sword,” Henry offered lamely, not knowing what to say. He was as fatherless as Mulan, but her loss seemed greater. She probably had years of memories with her father that played a huge role in shaping the warrior she had grown into. Henry only had a few weeks to even meet Neal, and the few wooden sword spars they had shared were hardly enough to help him fully empathize with Mulan’s loss. 

Deciding he needed to change the subject he looked around hastily until his eyes fell on another sword lying near him. “If these swords are from Camelot then Excalibur could be here, right? Is it that one? The one with the red handle- err, hilt?”

Mulan’s gaze followed to where he pointed and she chuckled. “No, that’s not it. Legend has it that Excalibur is enchanted to return to a stone in Camelot to await it’s next ruler. It rarely leaves its kingdom.”

“Do you know what this sword is called then?” Henry asked, still curious. 

“The Sword with the Red Hilt.”

“Yeah, that one. What’s it called?”

“That is its name, the Sword with the Red Hilt. It was wielded by Sir Balin until his death, when it was resealed in a float stone and later taken up by Sir Galahad,” Mulan explained. 

“Seriously?” Henry looked back at the blade, unassuming in appearance save for the vibrant red that covered the hilt. “Huh.”

“It’s a shame they don’t have their original sheaths,” She complained. “The thieves probably thought to conceal the swords so others would not take them at first sight.” 

“Yeah, uh, a real shame, but Red Hilt? Really? They didn’t wanna name it something cooler or a little more original? They could’ve at least named it for their moms or something?” He remembered Killian telling him how important names were for things like ships and personal weapons, and that it was bad luck to leave them nameless. 

The corners of Mulan’s mouth spread into a ghost of a smile. “You would name a sword for your mother?”

“You gotta admit, it would be an awesome mother’s day present and it definitely beats a glued-macaroni card,” He said. 

She shook her head at him and moved to collect all of the weapons and gold. “We should be going,” Mulan insisted. “We can carry the smaller items in your bag and wrap the weapons in two bundles.”

Henry opened his backpack and made room for the gold coins, necklaces, and several daggers. Mulan lifted the bag, testing its weight, before moving to the remaining weapons and separating them into bundles, one noticeably larger than the other. 

“I’ll be carrying the larger pile,” Mulan explained. “You’re taking the smaller pile and the backpack.”

“I can carry more than that,” Henry insisted. 

Mulan barely spared him a glance as she continued to prep the bundles. “Pardon my saying so but you’re not used to this, Henry. The added weight will already cost us at least a day getting to the Dark One’s castle. There’s no need to add time to that journey.”

“You’re saying I’ll only slow you down,” Henry accused, annoyed with the warrior.

“I’m saying until you too have trekked across continents carrying what remains of all your worldly possessions on your back then I am the higher authority in the matters of timeliness and our survival.” The hardness of her voice left no room for question or argument, but Henry couldn’t help his anger toward Mulan and even himself. This was someone he had trusted to take him seriously, to believe in his personal quest. But instead she was suddenly treating him like a kid who couldn’t pull his weight and needed special help. 

Henry wanted to argue, to fight with her about this, but he held his tongue. His thoughts drifted back to life under the first curse in Storybrooke, when he ate the apple turnover to get Emma to finally believe in the curse. All of his explanations and all of the happy endings his mom had tried to fix didn’t convince her. It was only when he took that bite and fell under the sleeping curse that she really believed. 

Fine. Show, don’t tell.

Mulan thought he was going to slow her down? She thought they would lose an entire day if he carried more weight? He would just move faster. They would gain a day because of how fast he was. Henry would be right and Mulan would be wrong and he would finally have earned her respect and she would stop treating him like a Goddamn dependent. 

And the next time they were caught in a fight Henry wouldn’t freeze up. He would be a partner Mulan could and would rely on. 

“Pardon?” Mulan and Henry snapped their heads toward Friedrich, who had finally returned. “It’s not much but it’s a poor host who lets guests go hungry.” In his withered hands Friedrich held a bag of what looked like dried berries and beef jerky. If Henry were in a better mood he might have stopped to wonder whether the dried meat in question was actually from a cow or some magical animal native only to the Enchanted Forest. 

“Put them in my bag,” Henry insisted. It wasn’t going to add anything substantial in weight but he wanted Mulan to see him actively taking up responsibility and exceeding expectations. She sent him a curious look that he couldn’t decipher, but he brushed it aside to open his bag for Friedrich’s offered food. 

Once the food was packed Henry dutifully, if a little angrily, took the smaller bundle of swords and tied them to the top of his bag. He saw Mulan watching him out of the corner of his eye but kept his gaze firmly ahead. He hefted the bag onto his shoulders, aware of the added weight, but after readjusting the pack’s straps Henry was confident he would be able to make good on his personal promise to shorten their journey to Gold’s castle. 

Friedrich was talking to Mulan about some of the nearby towns they were probably going to run into on their way to the castle, but Henry was barely paying attention, already halfway out the door. 

“Henry!” He heard Mulan call after him, but he wouldn’t stop. He had something to prove.

'=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

As it turned out, the Queen’s earlier estimate to the mysterious farmhouse was spectacularly wrong and Killian was fairly certain that if Emma weren’t so exhausted she would have pummeled the woman for her blatant deception. 

It was well past midday by the time they finally approached the shack of a farmhouse, several hours after Emma’s declaration that they find somewhere to rest. The three had barely stopped to eat a handful of berries since then and they were each forced to cope with their continued hunger in different ways. Emma glared daggers into the Queen’s back and muttered curses under her breath, while her Highness steadfastly ignored her. Meanwhile, Killian just ruminated on his thoughts and took comfort in Emma’s presence next to him on the road, knowing better than to try and dissuade her from her current mood without an edible offering of some sort. 

Anger and frustration toward the Queen were rolling off of Emma in palpable waves but Killian felt lighter than he had since Henry had vanished. The guilt was still there, of course, and he still felt it was his duty to find the lad, but Emma had said she didn’t blame him for Henry’s disappearance. She still trusted him to help find her son and he had every intention of being the steady rock she could rely on should she require it. That revelation had been tantamount to a boulder being lifted from his back and he couldn’t help the relief that poured out of him. 

Now if only he could do something about the haze that seemed to consume his mind and senses and the near constant need to wipe his nose. 

Once the farmhouse was in sight Killian felt the tension and anger slide from Emma as though they had never existed. “Finally,” She breathed. 

He couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped him. “Aye love, our proverbial oasis. Perhaps we’ll find food inside?” 

“If this is an oasis I’d hate to see what you consider ‘normal’,” Regina snapped up ahead, easily opening the large front double doors to the eerily silent barn. 

Killian would be the first to admit the building had certainly seen better days but after an entire night and half a day trekking through the fog it was practically paradise. The barn was fairly small and run-down, and looked to have been in such condition for some time. The charred remains of what had clearly once been an actual living space next to the building gave Killian pause, but the farmhouse itself looked to have a sturdy roof and stable walls, patched and boarded up as they were, and he didn’t think they were really in any position to complain anyway. He had slept in places far less habitable than this and he was unfortunately certain that Emma had as well. 

The only thing that really bothered him at all was the empty feeling the place gave off, as though the life had been taken out of it all at once. 

“This feels rather like one of Henry’s stories,” Killian said under his breath, walking forward to enter the barn.

“What do you mean?” Emma questioned, eyes briefly wistful at the mention of her son.

“Hm? Oh, nothing Swan, just that Henry would love to be exploring a mysteriously empty shelter whilst on a quest.”

“And whatever this weird fog is. Seriously, it’s giving me the creeps,” She added warily. Killian had to agree with her, the fog was quite obviously magical and it held an ominous air to it that seeped into everything it touched. Perhaps it had something to do with the emptiness the barn emitted?

“Someone lives here, hard as that is to believe,” Regina commented when they entered after her, glancing around the open room and twisting her nose. “Or at least they used…”

“What the hell happened here?” Emma questioned, eyes darting around the room. 

It looked as though a gale had stormed its way through the interior, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. The open space inside the barn had clearly been converted into a makeshift living area once, likely done in the aftermath of whatever fire had burned down the main house, but any homey touches had been ruined and lost. Broken barrels and sacks of ill-looking foodstuffs were tossed around the room, and the splintered remnants of farm tools and furniture littered the ground. The scent of the fire somehow lingered in the air, dampened only by the heaviness of the fog and the ash and debris scattered across the space. 

Strangely, there was no sign or smell that any sort of farm animals had occupied the stalls for some time. In fact, the only signs of any life came from the raggedy blankets strewn across a pile of hay inside one of the empty stalls, the straw dented from the consistent press of at least two human bodies. 

After another look around the room, what was and wasn’t there, Killian voiced his observations aloud. 

“There was a fight here. I don’t know where the participants are now but there are at least three sets of footprints on the ground. One set is far larger than the others and it’s chasing them around the barn without actually leaving the building. And several of these barrels look as though they were tossed against the walls. That can’t have been an easy feat,” He mused.

“What are you, CSI Enchanted Forest edition? How’d you get all that from this mess?” Emma asked. 

“Believe me love, centuries in Neverland would give anyone ample experience in distinguishing the remnants of a Lost Boy’s raid from a wild boar attack. Though I would never dare compare myself to your lady mother’s unparalleled tracking prowess.”

Regina snorted at that. “And where are these mysterious fighters? You said the footprints don’t even leave the barn so where are the bodies?” 

Killian brushed her tone aside jokingly. “Glad you asked Majesty! If we follow the larger of the footprints down this way,” He pointed to the far side of the barn, trailing his finger across the edge where the ground met the wall. “And back toward us, it will lead to this pile of debris where we should find our missing…” Killian trailed off and started pulling apart the large pile of ruined barrels and split wood, hoping to find the missing bodies but instead coming across a- “Pocket watch.” 

“A pocket watch?” Regina asked, curious but incredulous.

“Aye, and a rather well-made pocket watch by the looks of it. Bit out of place in this shack, don’t you think love?” A timepiece as well crafted as the one Killian was looking at had no business being at the bottom of such a heap. The thin gold chain and matching gold casing surrounding the clock glowed even without the aid of any light. If he looked closely, Killian could see a small crack on the clock face where all of the clock hands stood barely moving. They ticked again and again in the same position, trapped between the eight and the nine on the clock face. 

“Definitely out of place. Toss it over here and we’ll take a look,” Emma suggested, and Killian reached forward to grab the watch.

“Wait, don’t touch it!” Regina called out in warning, but she was a second too late as Killian closed his hand around the timepiece. 

A jolt of energy ripped through him and he felt as if he’d been struck by lightning. His body and limbs seized up, stiffening until he was a statue powerless to move. And then something crept through him that felt like countless insects inching their way under his skin, tingling his nerves and leaving behind an after-touch that had Killian shivering in revulsion and somehow drained of all energy. When the revolting sensation reached his heart, he felt something clench down on the organ with a thousand fiery needles and for a single horrid moment he relived the night the Crocodile had taken his heart from him all those weeks ago. 

In the next instant the fiery pain and the tingling insects were gone and Killian registered a different burning feeling in his hand. The watch, he vaguely realized. All at once the timepiece burned hotter than the sun and shattered under his hand with a resounding crack, the force sending him flying backwards to land somewhere on the ground of the barn. 

His mind was a blank pool of nothing for several long moments, and as awareness returned to him he recognized the ache in his back and head, the seared heat on his palm, and Emma’s voice calling his name, her warm hands on his face. 

“Bloody hell.” His voice was raw and grated on his throat painfully, and the haze that had clouded his mind all night returned with a vengeance.

He felt the press of her forehead against his, and the puffs of air as she breathed in relief. “You’re ok,” She whispered against his skin. “You’re ok and you’re still here. God damn it, Killian, don’t do that to me again! I’m not losing you.”

“As you wish, love,” He breathed. 

“Regina what the hell was that thing?” Emma snapped, sitting up quickly. Killian opened his eyes as she rose, watching her gaze narrow at the Queen before widening again as she took in the scene around her. 

Killian struggled to raise himself onto his elbows, his entire body still tingling with the after-touch of those bloody insects and feeling weighed down by some invisible force. As the room came more fully into view, he was caught off guard by the sight of an additional four bodies littering the ground. Three were human, a man and woman in tattered rags and another man dressed in traveling clothes fit for nobility. The fourth body appeared caught between forms, it’s body growing grotesquely into something he vaguely recognized as a troll, but it’s coloring and features remained mostly human. The humans appeared lightly injured and unconscious, but whatever the hybrid was seemed to have expired already. 

Killian barely registered the shattered remains of the timepiece lying several feet from him, it’s gold casing quickly rusting and crumbling into dust. Regina, however, did not overlook the watch, and moved her gaze swiftly between it, the four bodies, and Killian several times. “It’s a time-watch,” She explained, kicking the crumbling timepiece over to reveal it’s rusting back. 

“That’s redundant. Now what did it do?” Emma’s voice was still heated. 

“They steal time from people. The watches were failed attempts to perpetually extend someone’s life without committing to full immortality. The user would carve their name into the back of the watch and from then on anyone else who touched the watch would be sucked inside and the years they had already lived would transfer to the watch’s owner, who in this case is…” She knelt down to look at the broken timepiece, squinting her eyes to read the name scratched onto the back, “Someone named John, whoever the hell that is.” 

“So an eighty year old person trapped in the watch would give this ‘John’ another eighty years of life? And the watch was trying to take Killian prisoner?”

“Exactly, but it probably couldn’t because of that thing.” Regina pointed a finger at the troll-human hybrid. “These watches were only meant for humans, so a half human, half whatever that is would ruin the enchantments on the watch and leave it vulnerable to breaking.” 

“Hold on a moment love, you said ‘failed’ attempts? The watch held all these people prisoner, how is that a failure?” Killian’s throat still felt raw and dry when he spoke. Of all the times to leave his rum flask lost in Storybrooke…

“The watches had a finite amount of space and there was no way of knowing how much or how little time could be held by each watch. Some watches held centuries, others only decades. There was no way to know, so taking a prisoner into the watch meant running the risk of overloading the magic with that person’s age so…” Regina trailed off in realization and her eyes snapped between Killian and the watch. 

Emma followed Regina’s eyes and she lit up in understanding, green eyes sparkling happily with disbelief when they met his again. She seemed to be on the brink of saying something, her mouth silently opening, but she held herself back. 

“Swan?”

Emma trembled with barely repressed mirth, her open gape transforming into a wide smile that mirrored the one now adorning the Queen’s face in equal amusement. 

“Swan, I don’t understand. Why are you both smiling like that?”

Whatever dam was holding back Emma’s amusement broke and her laughter started pouring out in small waves. 

“Seriously?” Emma gasped between breaths. “The watch broke because Killian is-?”

“Looks like,” Regina replied, equally breathless but able to contain her laughter to the shaking of her body. 

“Care to share the joke darling? I feel as though I’ve become the punch line.” Neither of them seemed willing to answer his inquiries and it only left him more confused. 

Emma moved to kneel in front of him, offering a hand to Killian. “Come on old timer,” She said, still chuckling. “Let me look at that hand.”

Understanding hit him all at once and he rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Oh, very funny. The watch couldn’t handle 300 years of piracy so it broke. Very amusing Swan.”

“Remind me to get you an AARP card when we get back to Storybrooke,” Emma added, leaving Killian to wonder what an AARP card was and why it was relevant.

This only sent another peal of laughter and trembling through Regina, to Killian’s great annoyance. He was tempted to point out the Queen’s own magically advanced age but thought better of it. Only a great fool ever brought up a woman’s age. And try as he might he couldn’t stay annoyed with the two women over their obvious amusement for long. It was contagious, and a genuine grin soon spread across his features. 

“Well love, this old salt looks forward to your tender care,” He said, deliberately drawing out the words and holding out his hand for her inspection. Emma’s magical touch was soft and healing against his skin. The searing heat that once covered his palm cooled everywhere she touched, and was replaced by a pleasant tickling. Killian smiled at the result, flexing his hand experimentally when she finished. Some red still remained but the pain was gone and the marks would likely heal fully within a few days. His smile widened at her smile and he barely registered the Queen quickly turning away from them to walk toward the unconscious bodies until her voice rang out, the amusement gone. 

“We need to wake these people up and see if they know anything. Even if they haven’t seen Henry they have to know something about this fog at least.” 

Emma turned toward Regina, eyes softening. “We might as well let them sleep off whatever magic was holding them. The whole point of us coming to this barn was to get some rest out of the mud anyway, so waking them up isn’t gonna do us a lot of good yet.”

Regina looked between them and the bodies, before conceding. “Find some food. I’ll make a fire,” She said tersely. She moved deliberately around the barn, picking up broken wood and bits of hay in a manner Killian could only describe as distracted. 

Emma gave his hand a squeeze and stood to search the barn for something to eat. Killian followed after her, glancing at the body of the well-dressed noble. Something about the man’s appearance teased Killian’s memory and he knew he had seen the man somewhere before. 

He shrugged. The man didn’t appear dangerous, so he wouldn’t worry. Perhaps he would better remember the stranger once he had eaten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who has stuck with this story! I know it doesn’t get a lot of notice but I absolutely love the comments I do get. You’ve all been nothing but supportive, so thank you!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been forever and a day since I updated anything and I apologize profusely! This chapter is a far longer than the others mostly because I found a good stopping point for it and got really into the final viewpoint. Also, to the guest who asked about Mulan’s full back-story, I promise it is coming but not in this chapter, although there are more hints to it.
> 
> *A.N. I goofed. I put Blue and the fairies in the last chapter when I never meant to have them in this fic in the first place (Considering at this point in post 4a they weren’t around anyway) so I went back and changed the last chapter. Nothing super drastic, but it is a tad different, just an FYI.

Granny had stopped by the library mid-morning with take-out, Neal, and all his baby things. She even stayed to flip through a few larger books with them, providing a fresh set of eyes to the weary trio. Neal’s presence immediately soothed any growing tension in David, Mary Margaret, and Belle, and the sight of his son’s bright and cheery face never failed to make David smile.

Henry called it ‘baby magic’; the magical ability of any infant or toddler to turn any adult, parent or otherwise, into a gushing pile of praise and singular attention. With one unassuming smile Neal melted away any trace of frustration and only renewed David’s desire to find a portal for his family. 

But as wonderful a distraction as Neal was, he was ultimately just that. A distraction. Every time his chubby hand tapped the page of a book or he chortled happily at the bright pictures and obscure symbols, it pulled David’s mind away from the reason he was scouring the books in the first place. 

He had to find a way to help his family and bring them home. Maybe David was still seeing his grandson through those rose-colored glasses Hook had described, but no matter how much Henry insisted on proving himself he was still a kid who had never been in a real fight, and should never have to be. Hook said Henry wanted to grow up. Fine then. Henry could grow up if he wanted to but the kid would be under house arrest until the end of time once he was back safe in Storybrooke. 

David remembered being Henry’s age but by that time in his life he’d already been helping on the farm for so long he didn’t know how to be a kid anymore. His life wasn’t about proving anything; it was about putting food on the table for himself and his mother and staying out of trouble. If David wanted something to eat, he had to work for it, plain and simple. Henry didn’t have to worry about something as basic as food. Why couldn’t he just let his family take care of him the way family was supposed to in the first place? 

David lost himself so deeply in thought that he stopped registering the letters on the page as actual words and instead saw them blur together into a strange new form of modern art. He rubbed his eyes and blinked tiredly. In his gut David knew books weren’t going to solve anything this time, at least, not the books in the library. He knew Mary Margaret meant well, not wanting to push Belle into returning to Gold’s shop so soon, but they needed to see if anything in the antiques store would help them. Maybe it was a missing scroll, a carefully hidden magic bean, or something tucked away in the dusty shelves between a cursed sword and a chipped teacup.

Mary Margaret must have sensed his growing frustration because some time in the early afternoon she caught his eye and gestured toward the back shelves. He responded with the slightest of nods and a vague request. 

“Mary Margaret, could you help me find-”

“Absolutely!”

David followed after his wife, who was already on her feet and halfway to the back room with Neal lying against her shoulder. It was a thinly veiled excuse to give in front of Belle and Granny and they both knew it. They just needed a moment to themselves to strategize. 

“We need to go to Gold’s shop,” Mary Margaret was quick to whisper as soon as they were out of earshot. 

“Definitely. He spent all that time trying to travel between the realms. There’s gotta be something in his shop to show for it, a book, or a notepad, or something.” 

She nodded in agreement, bouncing Neal lightly, as her features turned thoughtful. “We should tell Belle we’re going. She doesn’t have to come with us to the shop, but it’s the right thing to do.”

David shook his head, unsure. “I don’t know, she was ready to fight us on anyone going into the pawn shop, with or without her. Maybe we don’t say, and just take a quick look ourselves?” 

“I don’t like it,” Mary Margaret admitted. 

“Neither do I, but if this is what it takes to get Henry and the others back from the Enchanted Forest then I think we need to do it.”

Mary Margaret bit her lip, unhappy, but finally nodded her head in agreement. David smiled back stiffly, glad they were on the same page but well aware that his wife was less than pleased with the arrangement. “Granny’s still out there talking with Belle, if we go out the back door now, at least we won’t have to walk past them.”

They slipped out the back with Neal tucked between them, the boy blessedly quiet as they fled the library for Gold’s shop. 

The shop had been shut tight ever since Gold’s untimely departure from Storybrooke and a gloomy air now surrounded the building. David had always noticed a sense of aged power that flowed from the antiques shop, but without the presence of Gold or Belle to breathe life into the space it felt more like a crypt, cavernous and dank. 

And now he and Mary Margaret were playing grave robbers. 

He reached for the doorknob, trying to twist it open, but no matter how it turned the door stayed firmly shut. It was like the knob wasn’t even turning. David wanted to believe that the wooden door was just stuck and needed a little physical persuasion. He tried twisting the knob again, this time putting his weight into pushing and pulling on the door, anger mounting with his every attempt. 

Still no luck. 

“We shouldn’t be surprised it’s locked,” Mary Margaret pointed out. “Gold never liked people sneaking in when he wasn’t around.”

“Well since he’s not here, he won’t mind if I break a window then,” David suggested, pulling back his arm. 

Pain radiated through his already injured hand as soon as his fist made contact with the glass window, or at least, with whatever was covering the glass. Something invisible and hard as stone stopped his break-in and he cringed even as he sent his fist back in for another futile blow, wanting to take his frustration out on something solid and not caring if it only hurt him more. 

“David, stop! You’re hands have suffered enough!” 

Mary Margaret pulled him back by his shoulder with her eyes pleading and worried. David finally took a step back, the taunting door so fragile in appearance but deadly upon contact. His mind quickly registered the dull throbbing in his hand and the lesser but sharper pain in his knuckles and he thought the door might as well have been laughing at him. 

“It’s gotta be a magical barrier,” Mary Margaret noted. 

“I really should have seen that coming,” David commented mildly, flexing his hand painfully. “Gold would never trust his shop’s protection just to non-magical security. I just didn’t think he would have had time to set anything up before Belle took control of the dagger.”

Rumor around town was that there were usually special curses designed by the Dark One himself that surrounded the store, and that there had been ever since magic was first brought to Storybrooke. The curses natures varied depending on the current crisis and villain in town but they were generally said to inflict unimaginable pain on anyone trying to break in. Now that David knew it was just a barrier he thought it was more likely that people were still so afraid of the man’s influence they had over-exaggerated his store’s magical security. It wouldn’t be the first time Gold’s reputation had led people to embellish stories about him. 

“So what do we do now? We have to get into that shop,” David pointed out, voice rising in tandem with his growing anger. 

He heard Mary Margaret sigh in defeat. “We need Belle. She’s probably the only one who can get us in,” She said, voice soft and apologetic. 

David was still angry at the complication but a sliver of something soft needled its way into him at his wife’s tone and words. He recognized the feeling as one that followed whenever Neal did something that should have made David angry but instead made him pause and collect himself. Parenthood really did wonders for a person’s patience in the right situation. 

“We both know she won’t come here easily,” He pointed out.

“If I had my way she wouldn’t have to come back at all, or even see this place again,” Mary Margaret admitted. 

“That sounds like something the old Emma would do,” David pointed out, letting out a mirthless chuckle. 

“But that wouldn’t help Belle heal. It would just be running and she needs to come back eventually. She has to face this place sometime and I don’t like it being so soon but it’s better to do it with us, her friends, than do it alone, right?”

David nodded, agreeing. “We’d better get going then, back to the library.”

‘-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

There were no words to accurately describe her elation and wonder at finding swords of the Round Table in the Enchanted Forest. Mulan felt as if she were a little girl again, reading stories about great heroes from afar and recreating their adventures in the hen yard, protecting innocent eggs from danger and pretending to slay chickens with a stick. She half expected to see her father standing in the doorway of their old house, his cane in hand and a wry grin on his face as he told her to finish her chores so they would have time to practice her swordsmanship. Mulan could practically hear his usual speech about how one didn’t need to be a great warrior or hero to learn how to properly defend one’s home. 

But the Knights of the Round Table were the heroes she had always dreamed of meeting and emulating. They defended their kingdom with honor and valor and their quests were the stuff of legend, even in her homeland well across the continent. But now she was carrying their swords to the Dark One’s castle and it felt wrong and poetically twisted. Mulan knew the Knights had each perished some years ago, with Sir Lancelot being the final and most recent of those losses, but if there were any curses cast upon the blades then the safest thing to do was to return them to the castle. If she brought them back to the kin of their true owners it could inflict those curses on innocent lives and she refused to let that happen. 

She wouldn’t let others fall prey to her mistakes, no matter how well meaning her intentions. 

Henry stomped several paces behind her on the muddy road, pulling her from her thoughts. His breathing was heavy and weary, his exhaustion obvious, but he didn’t utter a word of complaint. In fact, he’d been quietly seething ever since they left Friedrich’s home that morning, an angry sort of determination in his eyes that only grew more fiery over the day and didn’t fade with the setting sun or his waning energy. 

This wasn’t what she had expected from him in the aftermath of the troll’s death. Henry had been so visibly shaken by the fight she thought he would be silent and catatonic for days. But then he surprised her almost immediately by throwing himself into the goings-on around him, helping her question Friedrich and remaining surprisingly level-headed with the troll’s corpse only feet away. But now this extended stony silence… She had tried to engage him in conversation, ask him how he slept the night before or if he was hungry, but he hardly said a word beyond a ‘yes’, ‘no’, or general grunt. His behavior was all over the place and it was only going to hurt him in the long run. Combined with his over-zealous questions and unending talkativeness from when they first met yesterday, Mulan guessed he was doing everything he could to avoid facing the reality of the troll deaths. 

He probably hadn’t allowed a single thought about the fights to really cross his mind yet either, so it was entirely possible he didn’t realize he was doing it. 

Mulan pressed her lips flat in annoyance at his stubborn behavior. She should have known something was still wrong the minute Henry grew angry with her over something as basic as packing arrangements that morning. But no, her mind wanted to ignore the obvious in favor of getting a start on their already elongated travel plans. The added weight of the weapons would cost them at least a day, if not two, and she didn’t want to stay in the fog-ridden forest longer than necessary, especially carrying weapons and loot stolen from the Dark One’s castle. 

And even still Henry wanted to overload himself with weight and slow them down more? For someone who was trying to prove himself grown he was acting like a petulant child and it was grating Mulan’s last nerve. But then she heard his stomping feet again, the heavy fall of his breath with every footfall, and she let out a calming sigh, reminding herself to be patient with him. She was the elder of them, and the more experienced. It was up to her to make sure they stayed on track and took care of themselves on this journey. When they needed to rest, she had to call for it, and when they needed to make camp, she would have to direct Henry in how to set one up. 

And speaking of setting up camp…

The setting sun, it’s light barely fighting through the thick fog, reminded her of the late hour. The air was already fairly cool from the constant overcast of clouds, but she knew the night would feel colder still if precautions were not taken. 

“We should make camp for the night. It will be almost another day before we reach the next village,” Mulan said, walking to the side of the road to pick up whatever fallen branches happened to be the driest.

“I’m not tired. We can keep going,” Henry lied, his voice as stiff as his shoulders. Mulan turned to him and he immediately crossed his arms defensively. “If you’re worried about not being able to see in the dark then don’t be. I have a flashlight,” He added.

It was the first full sentence he had spoken all day since they left Friedrich’s village, and as happy as Mulan was that he was speaking again this definitely wasn’t the tone she had been hoping for. 

“Henry, you’ve been on your feet all day and it’s smarter to rest now,” She pointed out.

“We can make up the lost time and get to the next village if we keep going,” He argued back.

“You practically ran out of Friedrich’s home this morning and you didn’t stop or even slow down until you were wheezing a few miles later. Is that what this whole day was about? Making up time?”

“It’s about you being like everyone else and treating me like a kid who can’t handle a little hike!” He exploded, angry and finally let loose. 

She regarded him coolly, waiting for him to continue, as he so clearly wanted to. 

“Yesterday you didn’t stop me when I wanted to help with the trolls. And you didn’t shut down my ideas when we talked to Friedrich earlier. I thought you saw me differently than everyone else, that you actually saw me instead of some screw-up kid. But now you’re babying me and it feels like you don’t trust me or think I can do anything. What changed since yesterday?” His eyes were wide and accusing and hurt, and Mulan felt an ache rip through her at the ironic mirror of his stare and words, remembering them falling from her own lips so long ago. 

“Making camp has nothing to do with your age or capableness. It’s dangerous to travel through the forest at night, Henry, for everyone. I’ve told you this,” She tried to explain. “And I didn’t want to burden you too greatly after the fight this morning.”

“I’m fine. I don’t need special treatment,” He interrupted, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“You were shaking and deathly pale. Ending a life is not something to be taken lightly or toss aside, no matter one’s age or experience. Some part of you already knows that because you’re actively doing anything you can to avoid facing it, but the longer you run from it the more it will hurt you. I just don’t want to see you hurt like I was.”

Henry’s gaze was still tense and suspicious but he said nothing, so Mulan took the opportunity to keep talking.

“I’m sorry if you thought my treatment of you had changed for the worse and I’m sorry you thought it was because of a lack of faith in you. I have every confidence in your ambition Henry, but I also know that you don’t have the experience yet to fully realize it. That’s something that will come with time if you have the patience to see it through to the end.”

He was quiet for a long time. Mulan could feel his eyes boring through her, trying to decipher something in her words. 

“You said…” He started. “You said you didn’t want me hurt like you. What did you mean?”

Mulan’s lips thinned into a narrow line. She had meant to show empathy by telling him that, not open her past up for discussion and sharing. The moment she had been referring to wasn’t a part of her life she was particularly fond of remembering, and she wasn’t eager to share the details with someone she had met only yesterday. “I only meant that as much as I needed time to myself back then, I wish I had someone to talk to after my first kill. Someone who actually listened and helped me come to terms with the burden I now carried. That’s why I was trying to talk with you during our trek today. Even if it was about nothing important I at least wanted you to know you could talk to me about anything. I wasn’t quite so lucky after my first kill and kept everything shut inside me for far too long.”

Henry’s posture relaxed and Mulan shifted, suddenly uncomfortable under his softened stare. Harshness from others was something she was well acquainted with, but the understanding in his eyes was still relatively new and unfamiliar.

“You were alone when you killed someone for the first time?” Henry questioned softly. 

“A battlefield is hardly a place to be alone, although the aftermath of one certainly feels it,” She said harshly. 

Something sparked in Henry’s expression at her words, and he whipped his bag off his shoulders, weapons and all, into the dirt. He tossed the weapons aside and dug furiously through the bag, pulling the contents out and dropping them to the side. The sheer array of items inside the deceptively small bag made Mulan pause. There were the smaller daggers, necklaces, gold coins and food from the village, but also notebooks, pieces of clothing, and small knick-knacks that were clearly native to his realm. And somehow the bag still wasn’t empty. Were all bags from his realm so deceptively crafted?

He finally pulled out a metal flask and held it out for her. “You have a look on your face,” He said, as if such a vague answer could explain everything. “That angry-sad, haunted look thing. And whenever anyone back home has that look they always start just doing something else, like shooting arrows at a tree or riding a horse or drinking something. I mean, I’m pretty sure the drinks usually have alcohol but I’ve seen my grandparents chug down tea and coffee too, so I thought you might want something to drink.” 

She took the flask warily, finally understanding why Henry was so eager to do anything but face what had happened during the fight that morning and yesterday. It was what he had learned to do by watching those around him. His family coped with hardship by throwing themselves at something either related or decidedly not to the problem in question. Talking about their hardships seemed to be one of the last things they did. How else was Henry to react to hardships of his own except by mimicking the adults in his life? 

“Killian doesn’t know I have this,” Henry explained, sheepish. “And it’s not rum anymore. Just water. Err, rum-flavored water…”

“Killian… You stole this from Hook?” What was Henry doing near the likes of him? The last she heard of the dreaded pirate he had returned from Henry’s realm with Snow White and the others, taken his ship to the farthest reaches of the kingdom’s waters, and been oddly unnoticeable for a little over a year before disappearing all together. Was he in Storybrooke now? 

“He hasn’t touched it in weeks. I didn’t think he’d care,” Henry replied, obviously annoyed with her disbelieving tone. 

Mulan took a tentative sniff and sip from the flask, the water tasting odd but otherwise clean. So Hook had been in Storybrooke for at least a few weeks and Henry was unconcerned about retaliation from the man? That was something she would have to question him about later. For now, Henry seemed determined to change topics just as he had learned to do and she knew pushing him to talk more about the trolls and fights tonight would be unwise. Better to save it for tomorrow when he was more rested. 

She watched Henry replace all of the loosened items in his bag and asked the question that had come to mind earlier. “Are the bags of your realm designed to be bigger on the inside? Or did you have a spell cast on that bag to provide you whatever item you require?” Mulan asked, catching Henry off guard. 

“No and no, why?” 

“It seems awfully well-stocked for someone who chose to flee the safety of his home on a whim.” 

Henry shrugged her quip aside. “That’s the Boy Scout motto. ‘Be Prepared’. I don’t always know whose house I’m sleeping in so I carry essentials with me, like a toothbrush and clothes. And after Neverland I just started carrying other stuff too, like a lighter and a multi-knife.”

“Boy Scout? Is that a youth mercenary group?” 

“What? No! It’s for kids who- oh, forget it. I don’t even know. Look, it just got to the point in town where we never knew where people were gonna end up or what was gonna happen with a new villain or curse so I had to be ready for anything.”

“As practical as that sounds, Henry, it also seems a little paranoid. Your home is peaceful, is it not? So why keep this bag?” 

“Because I need to be ready. When something happens I need to be ready to help so I can prove I’m not just a kid. My family is always ready to help people, and I wanna do the same. But that’s not gonna happen if no one thinks I can do anything.”

Mulan sighed in understanding. “Constant vigilance. That’s a heavy burden to place on yourself, no matter your age. I would be lying if I said I didn’t understand that all too well.”

Henry stared at her from where he knelt on the ground. “You’ve been on your own for a long time, huh?”

Mulan shifted and could feel herself tensing, but turned on her heel before Henry could see how uncomfortable his comment had made her. “We need to make a fire, and camp, it’ll be dark soon. Help me find some dry wood.”

‘-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

“Absolutely not.”

“But Belle-”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t.” 

Belle couldn’t do it. Couldn’t do what they were asking her to do. It wasn’t as if she’d been able to keep all of her thoughts from drifting to the little shop the past weeks. It held too many memories; good and bad, for her to keep her mind clear of it for long. She woke up in a cold sweat at night at the mere dreamlike memory of everything the shop held, every potion and spell, traded rarity and artifact. She couldn’t even make herself a cup of tea anymore, for fear of breaking down at the sight of a teacup, chipped or not. 

David and Mary Margaret’s pleading wouldn’t make her change her mind. She wasn’t going back there. There had to be another way to bring everyone back to Storybrooke and it would be written in one of the books in the library. It had to be. 

A now familiar ache began to form in the front of her head and Belle decided the best thing to do would be to seclude herself somewhere until it passed. 

“Please, I just… I need to be alone for a while. You can keep researching here if you like and I’ll just go…” Belle practically begged, her voice as tired and heavy as her eyelids suddenly began to feel. 

David didn’t seem to want to leave her be though, and the fire in his voice rose in tandem with the impassioned flames in his eyes. “Our family is trapped in the Enchanted Forest, with no way of coming home. We need to look at every option we can to get them back, and that includes Gold’s store!” 

“David! Wait, just wait a second…” Mary Margaret pulled her husband back until he stood seething by the bookcase. He shot furious daggers at Belle that were painless next to the rending of her heart at the mention of anything related to Rumple. Husband and wife spoke together in hushed, frustrated whispers and even though Belle couldn’t hear what they were saying she could easily tell that Mary Margaret was trying to play peacekeeper and calm David down. It seemed to work, and the petite woman finally pulled back from her husband with a strained smile. She passed Neal to him and the hard set of David’s shoulders dropped at the contact. Mary Margaret approached Belle quietly, her gaze open and very much awake despite the dark circles beginning to form under her eyes.

“I know this won’t be easy for you,” Mary Margaret admitted. “But Belle, please, I’m begging you. We need your help. You’re probably the only one who can open the shop so you’re our only chance of seeing our family again.”

Belle was still reluctant, and let her eyes wander everywhere except to the pleading mother in front of her. 

“It doesn’t have to be right this instant, and if you do help us we’ll be right there with you. Just, take the night and think about it, ok? Maybe you could think of it like one of your stories? You’d be a hero stealing from a dragon’s hoard somewhere exotic instead of having to face the pain so close,” Mary Margaret asked in compromise. She took one step back, then another, and another, until she reached David and they both turned to leave the library, dragging Neal’s things in tow behind them. 

The library seemed a touch colder after they left. 

Belle wasn’t sure how much the advice would actually help, but at least she had been given some space for the moment. And now that she was alone in the library, an echo of nothing in the air and the scent of aged paper filling her lungs, she felt what had become a typical cold envelop her, wrapping her in an invisible chill that was less comforting and more numbing, more like an empty cave hidden deep in the recesses of the earth, which was about how far she wanted to crawl in on herself to escape the heartache and everything about this town. 

Belle’s feet pulled her toward the shelves, stepping alongside the books and tracing her fingers on their spines, absently noting the titles in her mind. Gulliver’s Travels, Treasure Island, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. She briefly considered the merits of finding a portal of her own and leaving Storybrooke altogether. Surely, anywhere else would be better than this place? She had heard stories about Wonderland, Oz, even the mysterious black and white realm where Dr. Whale came from. Traveling to one of those places just might bring her the peace she needed. 

But she would still need a portal to go anywhere, and that meant going back to the shop to find such an escape method, she mused, crestfallen as her fingers dropped from the books they so longingly caressed. 

The last time she had gone to the shop was immediately after she ordered Rumple over the town line. Belle had entered in a daze; not even realizing her feet had taken her there. She had approached the counter, smoothed her hands along the glass top, and caught sight of her wedding band still glimmering cruelly on her finger. Seeing the gold there, which now felt like little more than a deceitful lead weight against her skin, sent a wave of revulsion and hurt and anguish through her that she wanted nothing more than to be rid of, so with shaking fingers she pried the metal off of her hand and held it over the counter. She held it aloft as if planning to drop it into some bottomless pit to erase its very existence from her mind. But despite the weight that now came with the ring, Belle couldn’t just drop it, couldn’t bear to even imagine the clang that would resound with any hard contact on the glass. Instead, she lowered the metal circle slowly, trembling, onto the counter. But her hands were not as steady as she wanted and the ring clattered sharply against the glass all the same. Belle inhaled sharply and turned abruptly at the sudden clank, her back to the counter and shoulders tensed up high. The sound echoed harshly around the empty store and rang in her ears, bouncing inside her skull long after she shoved her way out the door. 

She hadn’t gone back once since then. The gold ring was likely still lying there on the glass, gathering dust. 

The ring no longer adorned her finger, but the memory of it was forever etched into her skin and her heart. More than once she caught herself absently running her thumb along her now bare finger, only to find the skin once warmed by the wedding band’s presence feeling clammy and cold. Her fingers traced the empty space now, as she stared unseeing at the bookshelves that had once been such a comfort to her but now were little more than a prison of her own making. 

Books had always been her solace, her escape. They were a calm amid the storms that seemed to frequent her life and for years she had drawn strength and wisdom from their pages. Every book and story, every shelf and library, was a wealth of knowledge waiting to be passed on. But whatever wisdom Belle might have gained for her troubles was not presenting itself, and remained steadfastly hidden. It was as though the further into her stories she looked for inspiration to overcome her grief, the deeper she fell into a bottomless pit or dungeon. And now, weeks later, she was finding it almost impossible to escape. 

She had locked herself in while looking for a way out. 

Belle didn’t know what time it was anymore. The sun had yet to set for the day, but she knew it wouldn’t be long before the too-cheery orb began making its descent beyond the horizon. Despite the day’s continued brightness and insistence that she remain wide-eyed and awake, Belle was already exhausted and her headache was getting no better. 

She pulled together the pillows and blankets she loaned to Mary Margaret and David earlier that day, and remade the nest-like bedding where she had spent too many nights since Rumple’s departure, lying down in an exhausted heap. Belle lay awake amid her blankets and pillows for some time, mind and eyes wandering over the scattered tomes. The piles of books they had searched through still lay strewn around the floor of the library, looking very much like a set of childish land mines in their disarray. 

She needed a solution to be in the books, in her books. If they had to rely on the antiques shop for an answer then it would be the same to her as relying on Rumplestiltskin himself. Rumple, who had stomped all over their love and her heart by lying to her, keeping dangerous secrets from her, and threatening the happiness of others for the sake of power.

She couldn’t let even the physical remains of such a man be part of the solution to bring Henry and the others back to Storybrooke. It felt wrong and it would taint the victory somehow, like they were all somehow worthless without Rumple’s powers and artifacts. Like she was worthless without Rumple’s powers and artifacts. 

Belle didn’t know when she finally drifted into a restless sleep, but she knew it was with the weight of her discarded ring and discarded marriage heavy on her mind. She drifted in and out of consciousness so many times through the evening and into the night, until there was no differentiating between sleep and wakefulness. So when a soft click echoed too loudly through the silence of the library, reaching Belle where she lay in the far back amid biographies and the scattered nightmares of her mind, she was doubtful whether there was anything to actually be wary of. The lull of a fitful sleep tempted her again but abandoned its hold when a crash of books resounded through the space. 

She snapped awake, tensing but otherwise laying still. A hushed and angry man’s voice was barely perceptible from where she lay, but she couldn’t make out whom it was. Whoever the intruder was, he was clearly having a tough time avoiding the stacks of leftover books, which were doing a surprisingly good job of acting as impromptu security. It was probably the first and last time Belle would ever be grateful she had been too exhausted to re-shelve the books before. 

Belle couldn’t see the intruder well, but she could hear him muttering as he tiptoed his way through the aisles. If he was so nervous about making noise did that mean he knew she was still there? Or was he simply being cautious because he thought she had security cameras or alarms?

Whatever his plans were and whatever his reasons for being in the library so late at night, Belle wouldn’t be caught unawares and she wouldn’t go down without a fight. She carefully inched her hand out from under the blanket and along the floor until it reached a thick tome. She had no idea what book she grabbed but it felt thick and heavy and it would serve her purposes nicely once she was able to use it. 

Quietly, she rose from the blankets, volume in hand, and crept around the shelves to stand behind the strange man who was bent in front of a shelf, pulling a book from in front of him. Belle could still hear him muttering, his accent familiar but not obvious to her, but with the lights still off and the library otherwise plunged into darkness save for the occasional streak of moonlight she couldn’t make out his features. 

If she knew the intruder personally, then they would hopefully forgive her for what she was about to do, and if she didn’t know them, well… It wasn’t as though they were supposed to be in the library anyway. 

Belle lifted the volume over her head and in a great downward swing slammed the text onto the back of the man’s head with a great ‘crack!’ Down the man fell, and down the book went with him, plummeting to the floor in a heap. But momentarily stunned as he was, he wasn’t out cold, and he made his pains known immediately. 

“Ah! Buggering fuck! The bloody hell was that?” He cried, hands rushing to cradle his injured head. 

“Who are you?!” Belle demanded, surprised the intruder didn’t immediately drop into unconsciousness and raising her weaponized text again for another strike. 

“I could ask the same lass. Who the bleeding ‘ell attacks a man in a library?”

“A librarian defending her space from intruders, that’s who. Now who are you?!”

The man finally lifted his eyes to meet hers and Belle recognized him as one of Robin Hood’s men. The shaved head, wide eyes, and accent not unlike Hook’s gave him away. She had seen him floating around the Rabbit Hole bar and the surrounding forest around town, but couldn’t recall his name. If the recognition in his eyes was anything to go by, however, he seemed to know exactly who she was. 

“Does the Dark One’s wife make a habit of shelving books passed midnight? I know the hours o’ this library are generous but this is almost too much, ‘innit?”

Belle stiffened at the mention of her husband’s infamous name and stepped back against the opposite shelf, the raised book now pulled in front of her chest defensively, guarding her and anchoring her at the same time. The intruder’s attitude shifted almost as quickly as hers did, and he grew apologetic at the sight of her discomfort, stumbling quickly to his feet. 

“Oi, lass, I’m-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I’m Will. Will Scarlet. And word around town is you’re Belle, right?” The man thrust one hand in front of him in a peace offering. It took Belle longer than she realized to uncurl one of her hands from the text shielding her so she could reach out to hesitantly shake the offered olive branch. 

It was then that Belle noticed the slight sway in his stance and the alcohol on his breath. She twisted her nose at the smell and dropped his hand. “Are you drunk? Did you honestly break into the library drunk?”

It took Will several seconds to say anything and he shrugged, unapologetic. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“And you just had to read this book?” Will’s eyes followed her hand as she reached down to grab the discarded novel, lifting it toward the moonlight to read the title. “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland?”

She saw Will shift uncomfortably, his eyes glued heavily to the book. “Returning a piece of it, actually,” He replied. He pulled a folded scrap of paper from his pocket, clearly torn from the pages of a book, this book, apparently, and thumbed the edge of it gently, as though it might disappear if he pressed any harder. 

He held it a moment longer, and offered the page to Belle slowly. She took it from him, the paper sliding easily from his fingers. Unfolding the paper hoping to find the page number, Belle was met with the image of a lovely woman in an elaborate red dress, the sort that could only be found in cartoons and fantastical paintings, with an equally elaborate blonde hairdo sculpted on top of her head. The block letters at the bottom of the torn page read ‘The Red Queen’. Will’s eyes looked wistful and could have turned tearful if Belle didn’t somehow know just by looking at him that he had likely spent all the tears he had to shed. Now, his eyes just seemed empty and hollow. 

“Who um, who was she?” Belle asked, cautious and soft. This world’s records of the histories of the Enchanted Forest were painfully inaccurate and Belle knew any such record of Wonderland was likely to be just as error-filled, especially one advertised in this realm as a children’s book. Whoever the real Red Queen was, she was obviously important to Will and there was more to her story than what was written. 

“Let’s just say you aren’t the only one whose been left behind for power,” Will said tiredly, still staring at the unfolded page in her hand. “And you aren’t the only one who’s felt like a bloody worthless stepping stone.”

He understood. The thought flickered across Belle’s awareness in a single streak, racing to the forefront of her mind. Will Scarlet understood what it was to love and give wholly only to be left behind by the one who was supposed to love in return. And if his mannerisms were anything to go by then he had been living with the pain for some time.

Belle looked between the page, the book she still held, and the man slouched in front of her. Some part of her realized it was better that Will put the page back, that she couldn’t do it for him, so she held the two objects in front of her, offering them to him. Belle saw Will gulp and glance between her and the offered items. He took the book easily, opening it to a section with torn paper still littering the crease, but he took a moment longer to take the separated page from her, his hand curling back hesitantly before finally reaching out and taking hold. He wordlessly slid the page back into place, eyes lingering on the cherry red of the woman’s dress. Will let out a shaky breath and shut the cover without a sound, turning to re-shelve the text behind him. 

“Spent years trying to forget her, and I’ve done everything I could to take away the pain,” He started, hand moving to rub his chest over his heart. 

“How did you do it? Did it work?” If he had found a way to stop the pain of his heartbreak than Belle needed to know. 

“Threw myself into work mostly. You could even say I put me whole heart into it,” Will sneered, turning to face her. His expression softened slightly a moment later into a smile that still didn’t reach his eyes and something else clicked in Belle’s mind at his expression, at the way his emotions and pain, obviously still so poignant and affecting, didn’t quite consume him the way they probably should have.

“Did you- You ripped your heart out?” She asked, mildly horrified at the thought. As great as her pain was she didn’t think she could ever go as far as ripping her heart from her chest. There was something too exposing about it, something that made her feel even more vulnerable. 

Will smirked again. “Had it removed for me by a professional, thank you very much. And don’t worry; no one holds that heart but me. I wanted to take the thing that she had over me, the thing that hurt me the most, and take away its power. Is that what you’re doing sleepin’ here lass? The Dark One holds knowledge as power so you’re taking all the knowledge of this library with you to do ‘im one better?” 

Belle was half taken aback at his statement. He had noticed the pile of pillows in the corner. It wasn’t that hard to deduce that she was sleeping in the library just from that, but the reasoning he’d drawn from it, that she was somehow taking Rumple’s power and turning it against him, was wildly wrong. 

“I’m not… This isn’t where he…” She took a breath to try and arrange her thoughts. “Honestly, it feels a bit more like hiding now. I’m worthless. I don’t have any power…”

“You’re far from worthless, lass.” That got her attention, her dark eyes snapping up to meet his adamant stare. “Maybe it’s time you took the power back? Take the thing that hurts you, and take away its power. Dark One’s power is his, well, power ‘innit? Or knowledge? Or his magic? Or…”

“His shop,” She said, voice stronger then she would have given herself credit for. An idea started to take shape in her mind. Taking power over the thing that hurt most. Maybe there was something to that, even if she didn’t have plans to rip her own heart out any time soon. Rumple conducted business and magic out of his shop. It was practically his seat of power in town. He helped people and hurt people and toyed with fate as he saw fit inside that building. And now all that magic was just sitting there… 

If she could use the magic and artifacts in his shop she could do some real good. Help people who asked for it and give them less reason to fear retribution than if they went to the Dark One for aid. David and Mary Margaret had come to her first when they needed help bringing their loved ones home. Belle knew she wasn’t their first choice, and that they likely would have gone to Rumple for help if he were still in Storybrooke, but they had come to her all the same and she wasn’t about to let them down. She would be taking control of the power that once hurt her and others.

A shiver ran through her and she fought against it. The idea of going back into the antiques store still sent chills racing inside her and left her aching and hurt, but with a goal in mind, something to strive for, she could at least focus and try to move past the hurt.

Belle offered Will a hand. “Will, I think there’s somewhere I need to go and I’d like you there with me, if that’s all right?”

Maybe this was the next step in moving forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear, Will Scarlet was always going to be part of this story, but the capacity in which he entered has changed from my original plan (Blame the slowness of my updates being in semi-time with the current season, but I’m actually pretty happy with how this turned out, mostly because it doesn’t interfere with my original scheme for this story. It actually kind of adds to it). 
> 
> P.S. I have absolutely no idea when in Will Scarlet’s timeline he is right now on the show. Have the events of ‘OUAT In Wonderland’ happened already or not yet? If not, do we have to worry about Will leaving Storybrooke with the Rabbit soon? If they have happened, then what happened in Wonderland that sent Will back to Storybrooke? Anywho, I’m going to be writing Will Scarlet in this story as if he hasn’t gone back to Wonderland yet, so the events of OUATIW have yet to take place. 
> 
> And for those who haven’t seen ‘Once Upon A Time In Wonderland’ I highly recommend it! There’s only a single 13-episode season but it’s super fun and you’ll get to see Cora again along with some new villains who are wonderful!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Got the loveliest note on this fic on AO3 the other day! Thanks so much for all the support even with my infrequent and often delayed updates! Every note is a little ray of sunshine on dreary days.

The pea-soup fog made it nearly impossible to tell time, even if it seemed less foreboding and dark than it had on the previous day, but according to Regina’s watch it was nearly 7:00am, which meant the sun would be rising soon, if it hadn’t already. It also meant she would have to wake her traveling companions so they could decide what to do with their still unconscious guests. 

The previous night they had buried the hybrid body of the troll-man outside the barn, eaten a meager meal of scraped together oats and dried meat, both of questionable edibility, and come up with a basic watch schedule. They decided to split the night’s watch into three four-hour increments, using Regina’s watch to track the time. Hook had insisted on taking the first shift so she and Emma could sleep. He had settled on a busted crate by the small fire Regina had built on the dirt floor of the barn with her still-recovering magic. The man was bleary eyed and obviously coming down with a cold or the flu and probably in more desperate need of sleep than she and Emma at the time, but he had been adamant, Regina had been past caring, and Emma had relented. Emma had then made him promise not be a gentleman and actually wake her for her shift in four hours, and Killian had been forced to relent too. 

It was a miracle that Regina managed to sleep through the night, however poorly, given the nightmares that plagued her. She dreamt of Robin presiding over a courtroom trial where she was condemned to death and him being powerless to stop it, and of watching Henry curse her and tell her what a sorry excuse for a mother she actually was, and over it all Cora’s voice mocked her, telling her what a fool she was for thinking she could ever escape her fate as a villain. By the time Emma had startled her awake for the third and final watch, the hay surrounding Regina was slightly singed and her fists were clenched painfully, forcing her nails to dig into the skin of her palms. 

Emma said nothing, handing her the watch wordlessly, but there was a knowing in her eyes that all at once irked Regina and comforted her. As the Savior fell into the hay pile next to Hook, Regina took momentary comfort in the stillness of the night and the peace it provided from her nightmares. 

She passed much of the time by lighting small fires in her palm, taking solace in the fact that her magic seemed to be returning. But the hours she sat awake were too silent and her traitorous mind filled the quiet with the realities of her fears and their truth, the truth that Robin had done the honorable thing and left, and that if Henry hadn’t actually been kidnapped then he had willingly run away. 

She turned her gaze from the dying embers to the hay pile where the Savior and Hook lay sleeping, loosely wrapped in each other’s arms. They had drifted toward each other in sleep over the course of several hours, and while it was hardly a lover’s embrace, the minimal physical contact only seemed to amplify the intimacy between the two. 

Regina tore her eyes away, a habit that was well engrained after six weeks. 

Just when she thought she had a grasp on things and felt like she could actually focus on getting Henry back, the co-dependent leather lovebirds would do something sickeningly sweet and romantic that sucker punched her and left her to re-live the heartache of losing Robin again and again. Their every chaste kiss and shared doe-y eyed look plunged a knife into her, leaving Regina to startle the pair out of their own private Idaho and then remove herself from the saccharine sweetness of their blissful little romance. 

She scowled. Did they honestly have to be touching all the time?

Regina didn’t dare tell them to stop all together though. The PDA between the Savior and Hook had only really amped up in the aftermath of the pirate nearly losing his heart to Gold. She couldn’t begrudge them needing the other’s presence after such a near loss.

Her thoughts inevitably turned back to Robin, as they had constantly since his departure from the town. Maybe she wasn’t meant to have romance in her happy ending, she thought, heart clenching in a familiar ache. Maybe raising Henry and making amends with Snow White was all she was meant to do. But then why give her that glimpse of happiness and completion with Robin only to snatch it away? Was it to taunt her for her cowardice all those years ago? To show her what she had missed out on by not walking into the tavern at Tinkerbelle’s bidding? 

When Greg Mendel had said villains like her didn’t get happy endings she had questioned it but otherwise brushed it off, her focus purely on Henry’s safe return from Neverland. Regina absolutely hated the idea that she was just a character in a story whose life was controlled by the whim of some Author, that she could be so off-handedly labeled as a villain instead of her own person, but if that was the case, then whoever this Author was, she needed to find them and ask for a happier ending, or at least some answers about her story thus far. It occurred to Regina, somewhere in the back of her mind, that the old her would have hunted this Author down and demanded he give her what she wanted. She would have threatened him, hurt him, and probably killed him in the end whether he had come through or not. Simply asking would have been unthinkably weak for the Evil Queen. 

But Regina wasn’t the Evil Queen anymore, was she? And if she wasn’t that then who was she now? Not a hero, not a villain, she was just a mother searching for her son, the last vestige of her happy ending, because if she lost Henry, then what would she really have left? 

The elderly couple on the ground twitched restlessly, occasionally muttering something incoherent but remained asleep, as they had for much of the night. The nobleman had shifted far less frequently; leaving Regina to wonder if he had somehow been more affected by the magical imprisonment than the other two. He was vaguely familiar to her, but in the way that many nobles were. The man’s tall and sturdy build did nothing to separate him from the countless other nobles and royals she had met over the years. They all blurred together after a point, their faces a steady and constant stream of fear and loathing directed sharply at her whenever she made an appearance in anyone else’s court or castle. 

Regina wondered if she had done something to the man back when she had been the Evil Queen, and knew she would have to be wary of his reaction to her if and when he woke up. 

“You recognize him too then.” Hook’s voice had her snapping her neck toward the pirate as he rolled a large chunk of broken wood next to her for a seat. His normally lilted accent was far too controlled for such an early moment of wakefulness, and it made Regina wonder just how long he had already been awake. She spared a glance back at the Savior, who was still curled up on the hay but now covered in the dark leather of Killian’s jacket. Had she really been so deep in thought that she missed him getting up entirely? 

“Yes, I recognize him,” She admitted, “I know he’s nobility but otherwise I don’t know where he’s from. Probably one of the untold millions I cursed at some point,” She said, bitterness rising in her throat at the admission. 

“For all we know he’s one of my victims. Nobility were hardly exempt from my pillaging. Besides, three-hundred years of piracy leaves a man plenty of time to make enemies,” Hook offered, but Regina wasn’t buying it.

“We both know I caused a lot of pain in a shorter stretch of time.”

Killian shrugged, running his fingers over his hook. “If you say so. But we were both once villains whom parents warned their children of at night to keep them out of mischief. We’ve more history in common than many realize, Highness.” He gave her a sideways look that all but screamed he had more to say, and Regina’s eyebrow twitched in annoyance at the pirate’s attitude. 

“Dare I ask for an elaboration pirate, or are you just going to barrel on through anyway?” He was always intruding on people’s space, butting his hook into conversations and business he wasn’t privy to as if he had always belonged there. And he usually came out of it looking like the cat that ate the fucking canary because he was a goddamn silver-tongued serpent. Yet he had somehow managed to gain acceptance among Storybrooke’s citizens and heroes more easily and quickly than Regina feared she ever would. And now he had the nerve to try and talk about how they might be similar?

If Hook noticed her mounting anger he ignored it easily, diving right into the meat of his argument. “We have both of us loved and lost greatly, and we let those emotions consume us entirely. For all our misgivings and evils, let it never be said that we are incapable of great love and greater pain.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Regina lied, remembering with heartbreaking clarity a time when Robin had told her essentially the same thing. 

“Oh I think you do, Highness. First loves lost at the hands of others, realm-crossing hunts for revenge involving a certain Crocodile that nearly consumed us, and holding absolute tyranny over our respective domains with cultivated fear and violence. Yet somehow, the long road to redemption has led us into the arms of single parents. While former villains like us may never feel we deserve their love, we’ll spend the rest of our days fighting for them because they believe in us, and that we can change for the better.”

It was another patented Charming family hope speech if she ever heard one. It was disguised in a lilted accent, but good grief, even the pirate had adopted the family’s ‘never-say-never’ nonsense. But sick and bleary-eyed as he still was, the pirate had a point. Their histories had some surprising parallels, and even though Robin was now gone from her life forever, Regina knew she would keep trying to be better, just like Robin trusted and knew she could be. 

But Hook never cursed an entire kingdom to another realm in his vengeance. Regina still didn’t know exactly why Hook became a pirate in the first place, but she did know that his vengeance against Gold included trying to avenge the death of his first love with the death of a single man. Hook didn’t have to face the people he had harmed every single day. The victims and bystanders to his revenge were long gone and even the focus of his vengeance was somewhere far away. The people of Storybrooke and even the Enchanted Forest only really knew him anymore by reputation, fearsome as it was. The fires of his crimes were not fresh in the people’s memories; they had long since been extinguished. Instead, Killian Jones was blessed with a happy relationship with the Savior, and the wary but otherwise trusting gaze of the townspeople. 

And it wasn’t fucking fair. 

A rustling pulled the pirate’s attention toward where Emma was slowly waking up, her hands pulling the spare jacket a touch closer around her as she hummed contentedly. She rolled to her feet and lazily walked over to them, settling down next to Hook on the wooden chunk that served as a seat and leaning close to him.

“What’re you guys talking about?” She asked, voice throaty from sleep. 

“Comparing notes on former villainy, love. We’ve more in common than anyone knew. For instance, our shared appreciation of blondes,” Hook replied entirely too cheerfully. 

The Savior’s confusion only lasted a moment and then she was shaking her head at him, smiling softly.

“And single parents with sons too, huh?” Emma asked, expression darkening at her own mention of sons. Hook took the opportunity of her closeness to wrap an arm around her.

“Aye, and that the remarkable women in these oddly similar relationships often feel the weight of the world on their lovely shoulders and the men simply wish to help ease their burdens by reminding them of their endless strength and the boundless love they have for them. To be their rock, so to speak, should they require it.”

Obviously he wasn’t just talking about parallels anymore. Some sort of understanding must have passed between the two, because Regina saw Emma’s tired eyes find something recognizable in Hook’s as she ducked her head into his neck. His own head fell against hers and his one good hand smoothed along her back. 

Regina knew she was going to be sick from their incessant displays. 

Thankfully, she was saved from their PDA by the rustle and groan of the elderly couple finally waking up. They muttered incoherently from the other side of the barn, and Regina jumped at the chance to be anywhere but in the presence of the leather-lovers. 

“Where- Where are… Who…?” The man grumbled out, eyes blinking open in an unseeing daze. His arms flopped around him and he rolled his head from side to side, trying and failing to get his bearings. 

“We freed you from the time watch,” Regina explained, crouched in front of him as she watched him struggle. “Now who are you and how did you get stuck inside it? Did someone named ‘John’ put you there?”

The old man didn’t seem to notice she was there though, and hazily swept his arms around him until they landed on the shoulder of the elderly woman, who was also starting to wake. 

“Who are you?” He mumbled to the waking woman. “Don’t I know you?”

That caught Regina’s attention. She had assumed the two were a married couple, given the matching rings on their fingers, but the way they were flopping around, eyes unseeing and confusion seeping from them… Something magical was at work here. Regina wondered if it had to do with the fog, but quickly shoved the thought aside. Were that true surely she and her traveling companions would have felt the effects some time ago?

“Hey buddy, are you ok?” Emma approached them slowly, one hand held out as if she were approaching a skittish animal. Killian followed behind her, but remained several wary steps back. “Have you seen a kid around? You know, before you got stuck in that watch thing? He has brown hair, and you’d probably think his clothes looked really outta place?”

The old man didn’t reply, but instead kept his gaze fixed on the woman next to him, something close to tenderness filling his features as he locked eyes with her. “I know you. I think I know you,” He kept repeating, hand drifting down to rub over the simple ring on the woman’s finger. The woman said nothing but stared at him with longing and confusion.

“Wait, they can’t remember anything?” Emma whispered, horrified. “Is that what the watch does to people? Takes away their whole lives, years and memories and all?” Regina noticed the pirate stepping forward to stand next to Emma, his hand reaching for hers to twine their fingers together. 

“No, they don’t take memories, not that I know of anyway,” Regina informed them. She waved a hand over the elderly couple; feeling for any additional magic radiating off of them that might explain their amnesiac symptoms. “This is different. There’s something here underlying the residual magic from the time watch. A memory curse, and a poorly executed one at that,” She said in realization. 

“A memory curse? Why the hell would anyone wanna take memories away from these people?” The Savior’s voice grew angry and Regina didn’t need to turn around to know that Emma was probably glaring daggers right now. 

“Perhaps they were caught in the crosshairs unwittingly amidst something larger?” Hook suggested far too reasonably. 

“Yeah, something larger that Henry is gonna walk right into,” Emma countered.

“We don’t know that Swan. The lad’s smart enough to avoid anything so obviously dangerous.”

Regina interrupted them before they could dissolve into an argument, more interested in action than speculation. “The point is that these two can’t tell us anything. We don’t know who they are, or where they’re from. There’s nothing distinctive about their clothes or anything their carrying so we can’t tell if they live near here or five hundred miles away, and we don’t know if they saw Henry!” Regina stood suddenly, anger over-riding any need for finesse, marching over to the unconscious form of the nobleman lying several feet away. She knelt in front of the man and let her hands hover over his heart, magic gathering in her palms.

“Regina, what are you doing?” Emma asked, warily.

“His body isn’t emitting any residual magic from a memory curse. Whoever he is, he remembers, so I’m getting answers.” The recovered magic in Regina’s hands shot into the nobleman’s chest in a single bolt of lightning, triggering a brief spasm in his body. The man’s eyes shot open and he scrambled upright, gasping for air and shoving himself away from them and straight into the wall. He was frantic and fearful, dark eyes darting around the barn and bouncing from person to person as he curled his body inward. 

Owning such a large physical frame should have made the nobleman easily noticeable, or at least mildly intimidating, but even with his square jaw and graying dark hair he was surprisingly non-descript. Maybe it was the way he curled away from them, as if he were well accustomed to trying to hide his larger frame, or maybe it was the way he seemed to make himself even smaller when he caught sight of Regina. It was almost comical, and a small part of Regina, the part that used to pride herself on making others tremble, took pride in knowing her long absence from her home realm still left such an impression. The larger part of her hated that people still reacted so fearfully to her after all she had been doing to try and change. 

“Do you know who you are? What your name is?” Regina demanded, needing answers and action.

The man nodded quickly, a fearful gleam still filling his eyes and his chest rising and falling in short, staccato breaths. When he tried to speak, his words came out disjointed and broken from lips that seemed at war with his thoughts.

“I know m-my name,” He stammered. 

“And?” Regina had no desire to coddle the man if he was going to be intimidated into sputtering. 

“M-my n-name is…”

“Well? Spit it out!” 

“Is that fear or stammering?” Regina heard Hook muse aloud behind her. 

“P-prince Charles!”

‘-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

When Henry woke up the next morning after another restless night of semi-sleep, it was to a less cloudy and foreboding sky, and Mulan wiping an old clothe against her sword, cleaning the blade of residue. He said nothing at first, just watched her methodically stroking the weapon clean, obviously lost in the motions of something she had done a thousand times before. Now that he knew the sword and all her armor belonged to her father it was easy to see the source of the devotion and dedication she put into caring for her things. 

“Wanna use my towel? For your sword? It’s probably cleaner than what you’re using,” Henry suggested after a moment, a little wary. Yesterday when he had gotten mad at her and later when she had thrown walls around their conversation concerning her past, he had been more than a little nervous about what he might say in the morning. 

If nothing else, the towel could at least be a peace offering. He had seen grandma Snow give peace offerings to people, sometimes successfully and sometimes not, but her willingness to try was often what counted more than the offering itself. 

Mulan eyed him warily, remembering the previous night’s confrontation, but much like with his grandma Snow, Henry saw a softening in her eyes that showed Mulan was at least willing to accept his gesture. She nodded, silently telling Henry to bring the towel to her. Henry grabbed his bag from behind him where he had been using it as a pillow the previous night, and moved forward on the ground toward her. Rooting through his overstuffed bag, he haphazardly threw notebooks and spare socks and other miscellaneous items onto the muddy ground, finally pulling out a small towel. Mulan nodded in thanks, taking the offering from him before pulling her eyes back to the weapon in her lap, continuing her ministrations. 

Henry looked back down at the small pile he had pulled from his bag and frowned at the muddy mess that now covered his things. 

“Aw, shit,” He cursed.

“Language,” Mulan muttered absently. Henry jerked his head toward her while her hands immediately stopped cleaning the sword. Mulan’s entire body tensed as she realized that she had spoken aloud and Henry could only stare at her silently for several moments. Eventually he decided that brushing the grime off of his now muddy socks and notebooks was a better use of his time than staying surprised at Mulan for calling him out on his language like she was his mother. Mulan apparently felt the best use of her time now was to resume cleaning her sword with a little more force than was probably needed. Both of them were less than willing to actually speak now that the air had been broken and a silence fell over them. 

Henry knew logically that only a couple admittedly awkward moments had passed but it felt like an eternity stretched out in a silent void. He couldn’t stop fidgeting and once he finished cleaning and putting his things away he found himself itching for something to say.

“Hey um…” He started, having no clue whatsoever what to say and suddenly regretting speaking in the first place. “Is it true that uh…” 

Mulan raised an eyebrow at him, still cleaning her now nearly spotless sword. Maybe she was just as anxious to keep her hands occupied as he was, Henry thought. 

“Is it true you and Belle took down a yo-guy?” He finished lamely. 

The only response was a confused scrunching of his companion’s forehead. “A what?”

“A yo-guy? No wait, um, a yowgway? Um…”

“A youguai.” She interrupted. “Yes, we did. Belle was able to track it to its lair when I could not.”

“And that’s how you met Philip, right? ‘Cause after Aurora got put under the sleeping curse he was turned into the yow-thing?” 

“Youguai,” Mulan corrected, eyes narrowing at him. “You seem to know a good deal about that adventure already…”

Henry fidgeted under her scrutiny. “Grandma Bel- Er, Belle, told me some of it. And Philip and Aurora started to fill me in a bit too. They come over sometimes with their son for play dates with my grandparents and… Uncle…” He finished awkwardly. The idea that his uncle was an infant still took some getting used to in his head, and he could only imagine what it sounded like when he said it aloud. 

If Henry thought Mulan’s forehead would stay scrunched in confusion at his unique use of family terminology he was entirely unprepared to look up and see a thoughtful, saddened expression in her eyes instead, her gaze still glued to her sword. 

“They are well then? Philip and… Aurora,” She asked. It didn’t escape Henry’s notice that Mulan practically breathed out Aurora’s name, but he decided not to comment on it. 

“Yeah, they’re good. Safe and happy in Storybrooke.”

He saw the tension visibly leave her shoulders as she exhaled. “Safe. That is good then.” She said it under her breath, and Henry thought she was doing it to reassure herself somehow. 

Mulan took a hard look at her sword, having stopped her cleaning, and shook her head before speaking again. “Safe in Storybrooke is exactly where we need to get you. Let’s pack up. The sooner we deliver everything to the castle the sooner we can find you a way home.” She moved to stand, sheathing her sword and handing the towel back to Henry, thanking him for letting her borrow it. 

“You keep it,” He insisted. “I have another one in my bag. Besides, you should always know where your towel is.”

The confusion on Mulan’s face was comical now, almost reminding Henry of Killian’s first experience with Netflix. 

“It’s from a book, ‘Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’…” He tried to explain. When Mulan’s confusion didn’t lessen, as Henry knew it wouldn’t because of course she had never heard of ‘The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’ just like she had never seen Indiana Jones or heard the Boy Scout motto, he sighed in defeat. “You know what? Nevermind. Don’t worry about it.” Henry began piling the smaller weapons he had been given the day before on top of his bag and strapping them down. 

“A cloth towel does seem a rather useful item to knowingly carry…” Mulan mused, tucking the towel into her belt and picking up her own stack of weapons. “Perhaps not quite as helpful as a knife, but helpful nonetheless.”

Hefting the bag onto his shoulders, Henry tried not to think about how much heavier it seemed than only yesterday. He also tried not to notice Mulan eyeing him oddly as he adjusted the bag. “You think a knife’s better then?” He asked, wanting to move the focus away from his discomfort. 

“Out here, most certainly. Cloth is good for cleaning, dressing wounds, acting as a makeshift blanket for warmth, but out here a weapon is more valuable, especially one as concealable and easily carried as a knife or dagger. You can defend yourself, cut down branches for a shelter or a fire, and hunt food…” 

“I have a Swiss army knife,” Henry noted. He remembered showing it to Robin Hood back when the man was still in Storybrooke and the outlaw being impressed with the compact nature of the multi-tool. “I mean, the knife is barely as long as my finger, but it’s still kinda useful.”

“As a means to clean small animals or carve something?” Mulan asked, genuinely curious. Before Henry could answer her, Mulan’s attention was pulled away when she spotted something a short way up the road. “One moment,” She said briefly, walking quickly to a small cluster of tall, white flowers. Mulan began digging around the base of the plants with her hands, carefully pulling the entire plant up from the ground, roots and all, and shaking off the clinging dirt. 

“What is it?” Henry asked, approaching her. 

“Yarrow,” She replied, giving the plant a once over. “It’s an herb. Depending on how it’s prepared it’s good for treating all sorts of ailments; bleeding, fever, cuts, general aches and pain… I always keep a small stock on me. We’ve been lucky these past few days to avoid serious injury, but it’s always better to be prepared before something happens.”

Henry snorted a quiet laugh. “Boy scout motto,” He muttered under his breath. 

Mulan turned to look at him with one eyebrow raised, and held the tall plant out for his inspection. “Here,” She said, watching him take the plant in hand. “Learn what it looks like, what it smells like, and if you spot any on the road while we’re walking, tell me and we’ll stop to grab some.”

Henry turned the plant over in his hands and took a tentative sniff of the flowers. They smelled nice, he supposed. He thought he recognized the plant from somewhere. Maybe from Regina’s spell books or any of the bouquets he had seen his grandpa David give grandma Snow, but there were probably tons of different plants with flowers that were tiny, white, and too numerous to count, so he wasn’t entirely sure. 

“But why are you grabbing the roots too? And how did you learn all this? Did your dad teach you?” He asked. 

“The roots have their uses just like the rest of the flower,” She replied smoothly. 

“Kinda like with dandelion roots?” 

Mulan smiled at him, and Henry got the impression she was a little pleased with him. “Yes, actually, like dandelion roots. But no, my father did not teach me. I learned during-” She stopped short, holding herself back for a moment from saying whatever it was that was too personal or painful a memory to revisit right away. “I learned during the war,” She said quietly after a long moment. “All the soldiers carried yarrow with them. It was how we treated many of our wounds after battle when there weren’t enough doctors. Many of us grew far too accustomed to treating our own wounds.”

The image that painted itself in Henry’s mind of the warrior in the aftermath of a battle was colorless and bleak, heavy with the weight of her armor and the weight of the lives she had no doubt taken on the battlefield. He envisioned her stitching cuts and gashes shut on her arms and legs, grinding and mixing yarrow into pastes and teas to treat her wounds, and digging graves for as many of the dead as she could to find some semblance of peace for them and herself. 

A distant part of his mind told him it sounded like a great story, and that he should find out more. He shook the thought aside, not knowing where it had come from. 

Mulan took the yarrow from Henry and held it gingerly, her eyes locked on the flowers with a glazed expression and deep in thought. Henry waited with bated breath, wanting to encourage her to open up but not wanting to push her if she didn’t want to talk about her past. He had danced this same dance with his mom, Emma. Was still doing that dance, if he thought about it. There was plenty about the lives of his relatives that he didn’t know and he knew he would have to be patient if he wanted answers, assuming they wanted to share at all. 

And right now it didn’t seem like Mulan wanted to share. 

Henry sighed in defeat, accepting that he would have to wait a bit longer to learn Mulan’s back-story. “I can grind the flowers and stems for you if you want? Regina showed me how.” 

“No, we’ll keep the plants whole for now. But truly, she did?” Intrigue flashed over her features and she stood, beginning to walk down the road. “The Evil Queen taught you magic?”

Henry followed, falling in step beside her and glad to be on the move again. “Not really magic, and not really teaching. More of standing next to her and watching her make potions and counter spells and maybe trying to read one or two of her spell books when she wasn’t looking. Kinda like what I did in grandpa Gold’s shop when I was spying on him…” He clarified, a little guiltily. 

“So you watched and learned in secret then?” She asked, a knowing and amused smile gracing her face before she turned her gaze back onto the road as they walked. “What sort of things did you learn?” Mulan asked conversationally. 

Henry returned her smile, and he eagerly told Mulan about the potions he had been studying, how he had started noticing commonalities between certain ingredients and the types of spells they were used for. It felt good to talk about something he knew a little about. It made him forget that his over-laden backpack was somehow growing heavier by the minute and that he hadn’t eaten any sort of breakfast that morning. It also helped him forget about the unease floating across his mind whenever his thoughts strayed just a little too closely to the troll-humans that he and Mulan had seen in the past few days and just how they had met their end. 

As they walked along the road, Henry chattering away about one of grandpa Gold’s books about mermaids and Mulan occasionally interrupting to point out herbs and helpful plants on the side of the road, the tension from before seemed to melt away. Every sentence he spoke and every encouraging smile and word from Mulan was another brick gone from the wall that stood between them that morning, and Henry found himself eager to tear the whole thing down, word by word, and brick by brick.


End file.
